


Just Far Enough

by TheSopherfly



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Angsty Tony Stark, Anorexia, Canon-Typical Violence, Flashbacks, M/M, Multi, Pepper Potts Is a Good Bro, Post-Canon, Post-Canon Fix-It, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prompt Fill, Protective Rhodey, Self-Harm, Therapy, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony Stark gets himself beat up, Violence, fight club is a thing, mentions of safewords
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-11
Updated: 2017-01-09
Packaged: 2018-09-07 19:16:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 50,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8812936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSopherfly/pseuds/TheSopherfly
Summary: Tony couldn’t honestly remember how long it had been like this. Probably since the day he’d called T’Challa and offered his help. At first it had just been compulsive self-denial: you can’t eat until you’ve drafted your opening remarks, until you’ve finished your research, until you’ve rewritten every last colon and comma and apostrophe in those Accords so that everyone can come home. 
Those goals had been realistic. Lately, they’d become impossible. Until everyone forgives you. Until you forgive yourself. Until you make up for every bad thing you’ve ever caused.
He was fine. He was coasting in a dangerous place, but he was fine. He wasn't taking it too far - just far enough. 
 
((Prompt fill for Blood_Red_Ruby1983 who asked for Angsty Tony. Set a year after CACW. Eventual Tony/Bucky/Steve.))





	1. Rule Number Eight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Blood_Red_Ruby1983](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blood_Red_Ruby1983/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony tries to deal with his baggage. Bucky shows up in the workshop. Tony makes an interesting discovery.

“Tony. Tony, are you listening to me?”

Tony snapped back to reality, Pepper’s hand waving in his face. “Huh? I’m sorry, what?”

Pepper looked frustrated, but didn’t say anything. Once upon a time, she would’ve given him a lecture or hit him over the head with a rolled up magazine. Nowadays she was more likely to give him a free pass.

_Quit making excuses for me, Pep. You know I don’t deserve them._

“Tony, please, try to focus. I was just telling you that this does not look good. For you or for me.” She gestured to a newspaper with the headline, ‘Stark Industries Shark - Asleep on the Job,’ pasted above a picture of... Well, Tony asleep on the job. Since Pepper was in charge of SI, Tony didn’t have to attend many meetings - but this one had been important, and Tony had been up for 30 hours straight when he’d waltzed in the door, sans coffee, forgetting his sunglasses like an idiot.

“Yeah, I know. It doesn’t look good. But I don’t look good either, do I?” He rubbed a hand over his beard and sighed in frustration.

“You look fine, Tony.”

“If they’re always going to paint me the villain, I might as well go buy a cape, huh?”

Pepper studied him, and Tony got the uncomfortable feeling that she knew more than he wanted her to. “We’re not just talking about the media here, are we?”

“Huh? No, yes. Of course we are. Who else would we be talking about?”

“The Avengers, Tony.”

“What do you mean? The Avengers don't think of me like that.” _Liar_ , his brain accused.

Tony picked at a hangnail and avoided Pepper’s gaze, because he knew the look she was giving him without seeing it: somewhere between smug, determined, and concerned. She had no right being any of those things.

“How has it been at the compound since everyone moved back in?”

Tony ground his teeth together and tried to look disinterested. “Oh it’s been fine. Peachy. Dandy. We’ve all been good little schoolchildren and nobody’s hit each other.”

“But it’s not normal, is it? It doesn’t feel like home like it used to.”

“Gee, Pep, I’d love to sit here and let you continue to psychoanalyze me, but if this meeting is over, can I go now?”

Pepper sighed and put her hands up in defeat.

“Okay, you win. Look, just please get some sleep before the next board meeting? Our stocks can’t take another hit like this, and I don’t want your reputation to suffer any more than it has. I want you portrayed in a good light, or not portrayed at all.”

“You got it,” Tony said, and he was up and out of the chair in a split second, faking a jaunty walk all the way to the door.

As soon as he was in the car headed back to the compound, tinted windows blocking out the sun and the prying eyes of the press, Tony let out the breath he’d been holding.

“I want you portrayed in a good light,” he repeated aloud to himself. “News flash, Pepper - there is no good light any more. I’m terrible all the time.”

He was glad he hadn’t given Pepper the chance to interrogate him, even if her concern was genuine. He didn’t want to talk. Talking made him upset. Which was why he’d perfected the art of aggressive defensiveness; push a person away enough times, and they would stop trying to break through. It was a coping mechanism leftover from Tony’s youth, courtesy of Howard Stark and his stellar parenting skills. And even though Tony was very much an adult and should’ve been able to handle his problems like a big boy, he hadn’t quite been able to kick the habit.

It was just as well. Tony didn’t need anyone else’s help handling his affairs. If he was going to go down in flames, he was going to do it all on his own. And he could guarantee that his performance would be spectacular.

...

 _How is it at the compound, Pepper?_ Tony thought to himself as he pulled up to the entrance to the parking garage. _It’s full of people and it still feels empty. Psychoanalyze that._

Tony swiped his ID, and the hulking garage door barely made a sound as it rose. He pulled forward into his usual spot, then considered sitting in the car for a while longer. Glancing up at the security cameras, he decided that wasn’t the best idea. Tony didn’t like being spied on, even if they were by all rights his cameras. He tried not to slam the door too hard behind him.

The elevator dropped him at the third floor, and he ducked into the small grey “staff only” door, taking the maintenance hallway. Yes, it was technically off limits, but A) he was Tony Stark and people usually didn’t try to stop him from going places he wasn’t supposed to go, and B) the last time he hadn’t taken the maintenance hall, he’d had a panic attack and freaked out in front of about twenty new recruits. Tony had worked very hard never to repeat that particular traumatic experience.

The hallway dropped him out of a pair of double doors just a few yards from his office, which had been outfitted for use as a workshop/office combo. This door was fingerprint coded, and he could change the security access at will. He never did, though. Nobody was allowed in without announcing themselves except Rhodey, with zero exceptions.

Tony entered the workshop, closed the door behind him, and took a deep breath. This was the only place where he still felt safe. All of his bots were there, his suits, and FRIDAY, of course. She ran the whole facility, and Tony loved how much Fury hated that. This was as close to home as anything would ever be. Just him, alone, in his quiet space. With his robots.

Today was one of Tony’s good days, a day where for the most part, his brain was busy enough to jump from project to project without stopping to think about the things that usually bothered him. This was Tony’s M.O. - keep your mind busy, and you won’t be able to dwell on your demons. Or your nightmares.

Nightmares plagued him more frequently now than they ever had, and as a result, Tony didn’t do much sleeping. Every time he closed his eyes, his mind supplied vivid recreations of the fight in Siberia. Nope, aliens attacking Manhattan didn’t scare him any more, because he was too preoccupied with his friend’s betrayal, replaying the moment where he'd been sure Captain America was about to end his life.

Thanks to some very thorough revisions to the Sokovia Accords, the Avengers had come back to the compound, and despite last year’s ‘civil war,’ they were friendly enough to one another. But Tony still got the bitter taste of betrayal in his mouth whenever he saw them, and he couldn't wash it out no matter how hard he tried. Maybe that was his fault. Maybe he was holding onto his hurt feelings when he should've been trying to move on. Maybe if he’d fought the Accords in the first place, like Steve had, none of this would’ve happened. _The world’s beacon of hope and goodness, the living embodiment of a moral compass, and I decided to oppose him._ Tony wondered if that would be a lifelong regret.

Tony sighed, realizing he’d lost focus again, just like he had with Pepper. He had been tinkering with a new bot, something small that he could mass produce to appease the SI stockholders, and his train of thought had carried him away. He squinted up at the clock.

 _Seven thirty_. Six hours had gone by, and Tony had barely noticed. The Avengers would probably be gathering in the communal kitchen for dinner. That was an activity Tony was happy to skip. He didn’t need the food, and didn’t like the company, not any more. The social butterfly that had once thrived on other people’s attention had been replaced with some hollow shell of a person, a genius with no new ideas and a never-ending list of things to make up for.

_Besides, they don’t really want to see you anyway, right?_

Tony blinked a few times, shook his head, and returned to his work.

…

“I can guarantee you Tony,” Rhodey said through a yawn, “the best way to get them to warm back up to you is to lie to them about how you got them here and then hide from them. Definitely gonna be super effective.”

Tony rolled his eyes, scowling into the phone. He hadn’t been _hiding_. He just… wasn’t ready to be part of the group yet. And yes, maybe he could’ve been trying harder, but Rhodey didn’t need to rub it in.

“Not in the mood, Rhodey.”

“Well I wasn’t in the mood to be woken up at 3am, but here I am.” Tony was silent for a moment, trying not to feel stricken.

“You know I can’t sleep,” Tony mumbled.

“Yeah. Yeah, I know.” Rhodey let out a sigh. “You could try to do something nice for them. Maybe… I don’t know, make them something?”

Tony chewed on his lip and flipped through a few sketches he’d made of ideas for improved Avenger tech. “So upgrades? New gear they can use?”

“It’s worth a shot. Now can I go back to bed, please?”

“Fine,” Tony conceded. “You are such a baby.” _He’s not the one who’s afraid of closing his eyes._ “Go ahead, get your beauty sleep. I’ll text you in the morning.”

A pause. Tony knew the question before Rhodey asked it. “You gonna be okay?”

“Yeah. I’ll be fine.” It was his automatic response - and it was usually a lie, which Rhodey knew. But that was an argument they’d had too many times, and now no matter what he thought, his friend took him at his word.

“G’night, Tones.”

“Night.”

Tony set the phone down on his desk and rubbed his forehead. He could feel a migraine coming on, but he wasn’t about to stop working, especially not when he’d come to an actual, tangible solution that might make the Avengers see him for more than just his shitty choices. Maybe, if this worked, he’d feel good enough to actually spend time with them again.

“Dum-E, put on a pot of coffee, will you?” The robot nodded, at least, as much as any arm-based robot could. Tony smiled fondly at the bot before sitting down at his desk and turning on the holo-projectors, ready to get to work.

...

It was early in the morning - he’d had half an hour of sleep and a whole pot of black coffee - when a knock on the door interrupted Tony’s concentration. Visitors to his workshop were so infrequent, he nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound.

“Come in,” he called.

The door swung open slowly, and Tony nearly did a double take as Bucky Barnes entered the room.

He hadn’t seen Bucky, at least not in person, since Siberia. Which was interesting, considering Bucky lived at the compound with him. He was in a separate wing, closer to Steve, and for whatever reason, their paths didn’t cross. Tony hadn’t been avoiding Bucky, but he _had_ been avoiding Steve. Maybe that explained it.

Bucky had needed to unlearn his brainwashing triggers, which had meant some rigorous “re-conditioning” before he had any hope of being cleared to return to the United States. While all of Tony’s involvement in Bucky’s rehab had been remote, he’d had his hands in every part of that process, overseeing the entire operation, unwilling to stop until Bucky was solid. Project Liberate Bucky Barnes had been completed thanks to Tony’s money, Tony’s tech, and Tony’s almost constant supervision.

He’d done it for Steve. Steve, who he still hadn’t forgiven, Steve who had created this whole mess in the first place with his obsessive need to track down the Winter Soldier. Steve had chosen Bucky, had put him above everyone else. And if Captain America had made that choice, there must’ve been a reason for it, right? 

So Tony had called T’Challa, because of _course_ Steve was hiding out in Wakanda, and offered his services on one condition: he was to remain anonymous.

He’d done extensive research, flown in specialists, created a whole rehabilitation program, and funneled it all through the Wakandan king so it couldn’t be traced back to him. And when the rehab was finished, Tony had enough evidence to prove without a doubt that Bucky Barnes had been brainwashed; he was not responsible for anything he’d done while under Hydra’s influence.

_None of it was his fault._

He’d had the whole court record sealed. There were things in that record he never wanted anyone to hear, because they meant he cared, cared _so much_ , and people liked to take the things you cared about and use them to exploit you. He’d read the transcript and barely recognized himself. He’d been like a terrier, doggedly determined, unwilling to compromise, fighting harder than he’d ever fought in his entire life to get the Soldier cleared of all charges. To this day, he didn’t fully understand what had come over him.

Once Bucky had been pardoned, Tony had hacked through the Accords with a machete. The back-and-forth had been extensive, and most of it done on Tony’s private server so he could ensure the privacy of those records himself. When it had come time to speak on the case, he’d organized a Stark Industries fundraising gala in the same town for the day prior, just to discourage anyone from getting the idea that he’d gone out of his way to be there. And then he’d paid off the press - some really ridiculous amount of money - to keep his role at the summit limited to “participant” as opposed to “organizer” or “guy who harassed and browbeat a lot of people in order to make this happen.”

By the end, Tony had resented Steve more than anything else. _I started all of this because for some messed-up reason, I needed to redeem myself in your eyes,_ he’d thought. _You hid the truth from me and then blamed me for the fallout, let me believe it was all my fault. What kind of person does that?_

Tony didn’t resent Bucky, though. Bucky had expanded his worldview, helped him realize his own faults, given him a concrete goal when the team had fractured and he hadn’t known where to start in putting the pieces back together. Tony had been shocked when he’d realized that somewhere along the line, he had forgiven Bucky, too.

 _I remember all of them_.

In his dreams about Siberia, Tony heard those words over and over, so much so that now he felt haunted by them. Really, he and Bucky were the same: both fated to go through life trying to undo every wrong, never resting until they’d atoned for all their sins. Neither of them ever feeling worthy of what little love they were given. _Are you as broken inside as I am?_ Tony wondered.

In keeping tabs on Bucky’s progress, Tony had also discovered some kind of… attraction? Which he had vowed never to talk about with anyone. He wasn’t sure if his displaced feelings for Steve were to blame - _and let’s never talk about those either, yeah?_ \- or if this was something entirely new. He _was_ sure, given their complicated history, that having even the smallest crush on Bucky was absolutely ridiculous.

_Well, being ridiculous never stopped you before._

Bucky didn’t know any of this. He didn’t know about the trial, about Tony’s role in his rehab, about Tony’s (insignificant) crush. So what reason did Bucky have to come see him?

“Hi,” Tony said, watching with interest as Bucky closed the door behind him, looking as though he felt very out of place.

“Is this… I’m not disturbing you, am I?”

“I’m already disturbed, you couldn’t possibly make it worse,” Tony joked. Bucky almost smiled, and Tony counted that as a win.

“You look tired, Stark.”

“Do I? Well, it’s exhausting being me,” Tony said, and this time Bucky let out a small huff of laughter, though his expression was largely unchanged. Tony grinned. “So let me guess. You’re here about the arm?” Tony pointed at the prosthetic, and Bucky shrugged.

“Kind of.” Tony was silent, hoping that Bucky would continue without prompting. “I also wanted to ask you about Steve.”

Tony frowned. He didn't want to see Steve, didn't want to talk about Steve, didn't want to hear about Steve. Steve, he was definitely still mad at. He tried not to seem irritated by the question. “What about him?”

“You don’t talk to him any more. Is that… ’cause of me?”

“What?” Tony considered Bucky carefully. “He didn't ask you to ask me this, did he?”

Bucky shook his head. “It's just been eatin’ at me. Not seein’ you... It's killin’ Steve, and I was worried it was my fault. Can't sleep at night for worryin’ about it.”

Shit. Tony didn’t want to be responsible for someone _else_ losing sleep, too. “Bucky… No. It has nothing to do with you.”

“But it has to do with Siberia, right? And that’s to do with me.” He paused, running a hand through his hair. “D’you hate me as much as you hate Steve?”

Tony’s heart broke at the expression on Bucky’s face. Was he really that worried about what Tony thought of him?

“I don't hate Steve.” He caught Bucky’s gaze and held it. “I just don't trust him. And I don't hate you.”

“But… What I did…”

Tony stood up and leaned against the work table. “You defended yourself against a homicidal, emotional man wearing a battle suit who was trying to kill you. You didn't do anything wrong.”

“Your parents,” was all Bucky said in response.

Tony tensed, then took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He hated rehashing these arguments. He’d already had them so many times, with lawyers, with world leaders, with himself.

“You didn't know what you were doing. For any of it. Mind control is seriously fucked up, and you shouldn't be held responsible for anything you did while Hydra was pulling your strings.” He paused, considering his words. He might as well say it now, while they were on the subject. “I forgive you, you know.”

He said it casually, as if it wasn’t the moon and the sun and the sky wrapped into five words - but it was clearly more than that to Bucky. He looked like he'd been sucker punched. Blue eyes searched Tony’s, disbelieving.

“I. That's.” He struggled for words, and when he didn’t find any, he ran a hand through his hair again, looking lost. “D’you mean it?”

Tony fixed him with a determined stare.

“You bet I do."

Bucky licked his lips and took a tentative step toward Tony, holding out his prosthetic arm, palm up. Tony raised his eyebrows at him.

“You want me to fix it?”

“Yeah, but… Wanna touch it first?”

Tony blew out a breath. He _had_ been dying to get his hands on that arm for ages, since before T’Challa’s team had even installed it. He stepped up to Bucky and placed a palm on the metal forearm. It felt cool and smooth, and also like it was writhing and breathing under him. Bucky closed his eyes.

This was as close to another person as Tony had been in a long time. The proximity almost made him nervous. He hadn't expected Bucky to just shove the arm at him, either, and he tried to ignore the butterflies in his stomach, surprised that his body responded to the prosthetic the same way it would have if he’d actually touched Bucky’s skin.

“How does it feel?” Tony asked softly, rubbing a gentle circle with his fingertips.

“Pressure, but not much sensation. Just enough to make me want more.” Bucky flexed his fingers lightly. “Nobody touches it, not even Steve.”

“That’s surprising.” What must it be like for an amputee to have a working prosthetic and no one willing to come near it? The thought was more than a little upsetting. Tony frowned again. “That doesn't help, does it?”

Bucky shook his head. “People are scared of it. Scared of me reactin’ badly.” He sighed when Tony increased the pressure, massaging the metal hand. “’S nice, what you're doin’. Don't stop.”

Tony felt a tug in the pit of his stomach. Those words out of Bucky's mouth were a very unexpected turn-on. He couldn’t help but smile when Bucky's eyes opened, glazed over in what looked like pleasure.

“You know, I will have to stop if you want me to work on it,” he teased, and he thought he saw the smallest hint of a blush on Bucky’s cheeks.

“Can you-”

“Give you more sensation?” Tony guessed. “Yeah, I think so. Do you feel hot and cold?”

“No.” Bucky bit his lip as Tony's fingers ghosted up his shoulder. “Fuck. I'm like a touch-starved cat or somethin’.”

“I promise I'm not judging,” Tony murmured, trying to calm his racing heart. He ran his hand over Bucky's bicep and squeezed gently, which earned him both a shudder and a laugh. Tony decided to stop there before he got really carried away. “Okay, hot stuff. Wanna let me take a look?”

Bucky nodded. Tony cleared off some space on the work table and gestured for Bucky to sit; Bucky hopped up and held out his arm again. Tony grabbed the smallest screwdriver he could find and took hold of the prosthetic.

“All right. Rule one, tell me if it hurts. Rule two, tell me if you want me to stop.”

Bucky nodded again in acknowledgment. Tony looked up at him for a moment longer before returning his attention to the arm, finding the first compartment and opening it slowly.

“Phew. Okay. Let’s see what we’re working with.”

…

Bucky left a few hours later, having already made plans to visit again the following day, and for the first time in weeks, Tony felt… good. Like he’d actually been helpful for a change. He’d made a few small adjustments to the arm that had already improved Bucky’s range of motion, and he’d added some more precision to the ‘tendons’ in the fingers to give him better grip strength.

Tony rode the high of accomplishment for a few minutes, whistling to himself.

Reality dawned slowly. _What’re you so happy about? You’ve still got a lot to make up for, Stark._

That was an understatement. Tony was buried under a mountain of debts, debts that kept accumulating at an impossible rate. No matter how much work he did, there would always be more work to be done, more to fix, more to solve. More to atone for. It was like Zeno’s dichotomy paradox. He could go half the distance to his goal, and then half the remainder, and then half _that_ remainder - but no matter how many halves he traveled, he’d never make it to the end.

Trying and failing to shake the thoughts from his head, he forced himself to get back to work on his project. He’d finished working on Natasha’s knives before Bucky had arrived, which still left Sam, Wanda, and Clint. He pulled up his sketches and blueprints of the upgraded Falcon pack and broke out the soldering iron. While it was heating up, he moved the pack onto the work table and opened up the first compartment he planned to expand. He grabbed his goggles, although he usually didn’t put them on, and picked up the iron.

He stared at it for a long time. Longer than was strictly necessary, especially since he hadn’t actually soldered anything yet.

_It’ll make you feel better._

He wasn’t sure where that voice had come from, if it was him or some internal manifestation of his guilt. But he knew it was right, even if the idea was insane. Physical pain was proven to bring temporary relief during moments of emotional distress. He blinked a few times, then decided to do the stupid thing and pressed the tip of the iron - which, by this point, had gotten up to its max of 800 degrees fahrenheit - onto the back of his hand.

He only left it on for a second or two, just long enough for him to truly register the heat before he pulled the iron away. He took a sharp breath through his nose, squinting against the pain. Tony waited for stinging to subside to a dull throb, then took stock, trying to see if he felt different, if anything had changed.

For the first time in a year, his brain was silent.

Except that wasn’t possible. His mind was the energizer bunny, going and going and going forever. The wheels never stopped turning. Sometimes it got to the point where Tony could swear his thoughts had thoughts. How the hell could it be quiet?

Stranger still, in the quiet, there were no feelings of inadequacy or guilt. The volley of verbal and mental abuse, directed _at_ him _by_ him, had disappeared.

_Isn’t that something._

This wasn’t a healthy thing to do. Tony knew that. And even if self-harm was going to become his new thing, which he wasn’t saying it was, a soldering iron wasn’t going to work long-term. But for right now, the deep fog had lifted, and that was enough to make it worth it.

Tony pressed the iron into his hand again, and again, totaling five times and five small white burn marks. He grabbed a band-aid from his desk drawer.

 _Is this bad?_ _Does this make me a fucked up person?_

He covered the burns with the band-aid and resolved that it didn’t really matter in the end how fucked up it was. It just mattered that it worked. 

_This is why people do this. Pain drowns out all the other noise._

…

Tony had finished the Avenger Upgrades quicker than expected. It had really only taken him a week, and then an extra day to make sure everything was painted and polished. What took longer was deciding if this was really a good plan. He wanted to do something nice for his friends, something that they’d appreciate, but that wouldn’t make them feel indebted to him.

_Are they still your friends though?_

Of course they were. Things were tense, sure, and Tony hadn’t been the best at communicating or trying to connect. But this was him making a genuine effort. He didn’t have any illusions about being abjectly forgiven just because of a few new gadgets, but he hoped they would see that he was trying.

He hadn’t made Steve anything, and conveniently, Steve wouldn’t be back at the compound until later that afternoon. (He knew this because he kept tabs on Steve so he could _avoid_ Steve, which had worked out fine so far.) When Tony entered the common room, it was just Sam, Wanda, Vision, Natasha, and Clint.

“Present time!” he said, pushing the cart full of Stark Tech in front of him. Clint didn’t react, but Sam paused the movie they were watching and glanced over, interested. Natasha quirked an eyebrow at him.

“Presents?”

“Yep! Look, I’ve… I know that I still have a lot to make up for. And I know that it must’ve been hard being away for so long. So I figured everyone would have some fun with some new stuff.” Tony gestured to the cart, inviting them to take a look. “Vision, I didn’t make you anything because you can wield the hammer of Thor, so you’re kind of exempt.” The hint of a smile tugged at Vision’s lips, and he nodded in understanding.

“Sam, I upgraded the space in your pack and gave you some extra stuff, there’s a diagram there. Wanda, those gloves are just a prototype, so be a little careful? There are a few different settings, they should be able to make your powers stronger or weaker depending on what you want. Natasha, those are knives. Pretty self explanatory. And then Clint, that’s a new bow. Also self explanatory.”

Clint picked up the bow and pulled the string back experimentally.

“That’s nice,” he said. He repeated the motion a few more times, then set the bow down on the coffee table and crossed his arms over his chest, his gaze calculating. “You think it’s that easy, Stark?”

It felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room.

“Clint,” Natasha warned, but he shook his head and pressed on.

“You think you can just make us new toys and that’ll make up for everything?”

Tony felt adrenaline spike, and he swallowed, his face heating in embarrassment. “That wasn’t-”

“You can’t buy my forgiveness. You let them lock me up, you let them keep me from my family. No amount of fancy tech is going to make that better. There’s no way you could possibly make that up to me, to _us_ , so you might as well not fucking try.”

Tony didn’t say a word. His jaw was locked up, his whole body rigid. Involuntarily, his right hand rubbed at the bandage covering his burns. He hadn’t been asking for forgiveness - just a chance to start rebuilding trust, to try to get back to the way things had been.

“Right. Of course. I’m the scum of the earth and I’m _obviously_ trying to buy you off,” Tony said, when he was finally able to speak. “I couldn’t possibly be doing this as an act of good faith.” He shook his head. “You know what? Keep the stuff. You guys be the Avengers, and I’ll just keep upgrading your equipment. That’s all I’m good for, right?”

He didn’t give anyone the chance to argue before he turned and stalked out of the room.

...

“Tony. Tony! Wait up!”

Tony cringed. Shit. Wasn’t Steve not supposed to be back until later? He’d barely made it ten feet from the common room, and he was still bristling. He wasn’t up for a showdown with Captain America, too.

“What's up, Cap?” He feigned casual, but he felt the tension creeping into his face.

“What happened in there?”

“Don’t wanna talk about it, Capsicle,” Tony replied.

Steve followed him as he tried to move away. “You’re obviously upset.”

_No shit, Sherlock._

“And you have really excellent observational skills. You should get a prize.” Steve didn’t look like he was going to take any kind of deflection for an answer. Tony sighed. “Look. I pissed everybody off _again_ , so if it’s all the same to you, I’m going to go hide in my workshop and avoid all the people who hate me. Okay?”

Tony tried to maneuver away and Steve practically jumped in front of him, blocking his path and getting much too close for comfort.

“Tony, stop. Please, tell me about it. I want to listen.”

Steve looked earnest and sincere, and Tony didn’t know what to make of that.

“That’s confusing.”

“Why?”

Tony didn’t want to have this conversation, didn’t want to be talking to Steve at all, because he was already too keyed up. Anger flared in his chest, and he rounded on Steve, his voice low and dangerous.

“Because I have these memories, Steve, very vivid memories of you trying to _kill_ me. And now you want to listen? Want me to tell you about my feelings? That doesn’t really compute.”

“Tony, I was never going to-”

“Then why the hell would you even for a _second_ let me think you were?”

“I’m sorry!” Steve’s voice dropped to a whisper. “I know we haven’t talked about this, but I’m trying, I want to be there for you, because you’re right, that was a terrible thing for me to make you feel.” His face grew more serious. “I should've told you about your parents. I regret that choice every day.”

 _Nope. No way. I am not equipped to deal with this right now,_ Tony thought. It was all hitting too close to the things he'd worked so hard to bury and forget. He was ready to forgive Bucky, but he was nowhere near ready to forgive Steve.

“Boo fucking hoo!” Tony hissed. “I’m up to my eyeballs in regrets, Rogers. I know you're ‘Mister Moral,’ so maybe this is unfamiliar territory for you, but this is how normal people feel all the time. This is what it’s like to hate yourself and not be able to do a goddamn thing about it.”

“Tony.” The hurt on Steve’s face made Tony’s heart ache with sympathy. _Damn it! Stop! You’re not supposed to care about him!_

“Look. Just leave. Me. Alone. Okay? I’m fine. Really. Worrying about me is a complete waste of your time.”

Steve reached out to touch him, and immediately Tony recoiled, seeing red.

 

_His palms are pressed flat against the shield, repulsors meeting the vibranium and scattering light. He and the Captain are evenly matched - and then suddenly, the fight changes. Steve is driving him back, and back, one step after another, until Tony is pressed against the wall. Steve throws punch after punch and Tony can’t see through the volley, his helmet tossed back and forth between fist and shield._

_“You can’t beat him hand to hand!”_

_“Analyze his fight pattern,” Tony says on an exhale._

_“Scanning.”_

_Tony sucks in a few frantic breaths as he waits for FRIDAY, lets Steve punch the daylights out of him, because the more he fights the more there is to analyze, right?_

_“Countermeasures ready.”_

_Tony grabs the shield and stops Steve dead._ _“Let’s kick his ass.”_

_Tony shoots off a repulsor blast that sends Steve spinning, relieving him of the shield. Tony follows, and Steve blocks him a few times before Tony lands three solid blows to Steve’s head. Steve falls to his hands and knees, coughing and spluttering. Tony shows no mercy, grabbing the back of his suit and flinging him into the cement pillars._

_Tony tells him to stay down and turns to finish Bucky, his head on fire with rage, his heart dead and cold in his chest. And then Steve is up and saying he could do this all day, and damn it, Tony’s going to have to knock the bastard out if-_

_Bucky grabs Tony by the ankle. Tony kicks Bucky's head, hard, but it’s too late. He’s already let himself be distracted, and Steve has hauled him bodily upward. Tony tries to get away, sees the ceiling sail by for a brief instant before he comes crashing to the ground, and then Steve is on top of him, has him pinned, and he’s punching, and punching-_

_Shit. Steve has the shield. Tony tries to block, but Steve is relentless, bringing vibranium down on his faceplate again and again until the helmet cracks and splinters away._

_And then there’s nothing between Tony and the shield, nothing except Steve. The bottom drops out from underneath him, and he throws up his arms as Steve raises the shield and drives it straight down-_

 

“Tony. Tony, are you okay?”

Tony’s eyes flew open and he found himself on his hands and knees, gasping for air. His whole body was trembling, and he shook his head furiously, trying to clear the images that were still burned behind his eyes.

“Tony,” said the voice, and he looked up to see Steve crouched next to him.

“No,” he gasped, and crawled away, still shaking his head. _Please, no. Not again._

Somehow he managed to back himself up into the wall and he huddled there, putting his arms in front of his face as if Steve and the shield were still hovering above him. He closed his eyes tight at the sound of Rhodey’s voice, trying to anchor himself in the present.

“How long’s he been like this?

“Maybe a minute. I’m sorry, I was just trying - I didn’t-”

“It’s okay, Steve. It’s just a flashback. It’s not your fault.” Rhodey knelt down next to Tony. “Tony? Tony. Hey, Tones, it’s okay. It’s me, I’m here.”

Tony lowered his arms and drew his knees up to his chest, still trying hard to hide his face. “ _Fuck_ ,” was all he said, and the rest was lost between sobs and hyperventilation.

“I got this, Steve” Rhodey said. “I’ll call you and let you know he’s okay.”

Steve must’ve left, because when Tony had regained himself enough to look up, he and Rhodey were alone. Rhodey had lowered himself to the floor next to him, leaning against the wall. 

“You okay, man?”

“Yeah,” Tony said, nodding and wiping his running nose on his sleeve. “Yeah, I’m back now.”

“Glad you gave me that pager.”

“FRIDAY’s suggestion,” Tony said weakly. “This way she doesn’t have to go all the way down my emergency contact list and hope someone picks up.” He scrubbed a few residual tears off his face with the back of his hand. “Plus, you predate all this shit. You have a sort of calming effect.”

Tony tried not to feel embarrassed about leaning his head against Rhodey’s shoulder. The two were silent, Tony finally managing to catch his breath.

“You scared the shit out of Steve,” Rhodey said, and Tony laughed.

“Serves him right, triggering me like that. Asshole.” Tony meant it as a joke, and so he kept laughing, because what else was there to do? He felt such profound relief, laughing and crying were the only things that made sense.

...

It was becoming increasingly apparent to Tony that he really didn’t know what was good for him.

He was waiting for Bucky, and to pass the time, he was replaying the footage of his flashback taken from the hallway camera. He probably shouldn’t have been doing it, but he couldn’t get over his own morbid fascination with everything he had wrong with him.

It didn’t look like anything, really. Steve tried to touch him, and he jerked back, and somewhere between the 10 and 20 second mark, he fell to his knees. He replayed it over and over, watching the trigger moment when Steve’s hand came toward him. It was such a simple gesture, with such a harsh and immediate consequence. Forget forgiveness. Would he ever be able to be around Steve at all without worrying about falling back through time?

Tony shut off the screen and picked up a light pen, twirling it in his hand. Still ten minutes until Bucky was supposed to show up. If there was one thing Tony was not good at, it was waiting.

_Oh, come on. There are plenty of things you’re not good at. This is just one you have to do all the time._

It was something of a nightly ritual now, Tony helping Bucky with the arm. He would open the compartment and poke around, then he’d give the Soldier an arm massage, because it was a crime that he didn’t get that contact from anyone else. He wasn’t sure who had started it, and he didn’t really care, because it gave him complete access to the tech and to the man who possessed it, and he wasn’t about to complain about either of those things.

And so what if Tony flirted a little, and maybe got just a tiny bit attached?

_Be serious. You’re flirting a lot._

Well. Maybe that was true, but Bucky flirted right back, which was more than Tony could’ve hoped for.

The prosthetic T’Challa’s team had constructed was a fine piece of machinery. But Tony, being Tony, always thought he could do better. He had already drawn up blueprints for a new arm, one that was beautiful and sophisticated and badass to match the man it belonged to, and he was itching to get started on it.

When seven-o'clock rolled around and he still hadn’t heard from Bucky, he pulled out his phone to send him a text.

     Tony:  _Hey, did you get tired of me?_

His phone vibrated less than a minute later.

     Bucky:  _Sorry, something came up. I'll make it up to you._

Tony set the phone down, trying not to feel entirely blown off. He was self-aware enough to know that he was a lot to handle. “Only tolerable in small doses,” he’d read somewhere.

_You shouldn’t be surprised. Everybody needs a break from you eventually._

Tony silenced the voice in his head by slamming his fist down on the table. He was fine. People had ditched him before, and he’d been fine. _Being alone isn’t the end of the world_ , he thought, but as the room grew oppressively large around him, he wasn’t so sure that was true.

He wasn't eating. Tony remembered now because his stomach was clenching painfully. All he’d had was coffee for the past two days, and he was starving. That felt right, though. It matched everything else about him that was empty. He sat down on the ground and leaned against his desk, his head tipping backward. A few deep breaths, and the hunger would pass. It was just as well. Everything tasted like ash now, anyway.

Tony couldn’t honestly remember how long it had been like this. Probably since the day he’d called T’Challa and offered his help. At first it had just been compulsive self-denial: you can’t eat until you’ve drafted your opening remarks, until you’ve finished your research, until you’ve rewritten every last colon and comma and apostrophe in those Accords so that everyone can come home.

Those goals had been realistic. Lately, they’d become impossible. Until everyone forgives you. Until you forgive yourself. Until you make up for every bad thing you’ve ever caused.

He was fine. He was coasting in a dangerous place, but he was fine. He wasn't taking it too far - just far enough.

Sleep was different. It wasn’t that he didn’t need the rest. In fact, he’d be the first to admit that he was tired all the time. He didn’t sleep because he _couldn’t_.

His heart started to pound the way it did when he woke from a bad dream, and instinctively he reached up into his desk drawer and grabbed the burner phone Steve had sent him over a year ago. It was his lifeline, because at a time when everything had been falling apart, it had anchored him. It had been with him through everything, through the revisions of the Accords, through the trial, through the sea of red tape he’d encountered when trying to get the Avengers back to the U.S. He'd slept with it next to his pillow. He’d carried it around so often it had burned a metaphorical hole in his pocket. He'd thrown it angrily against the wall and had a panic attack when at first he hadn't been able to get it turned back on.

He clutched the phone in his fist, then pressed the heel of his hand into the center of his chest. It was an old gesture, a force of habit from when a foreign energy source had kept shrapnel from his heart. Sometimes he had strange moments where he forgot the arc reactor was gone, forgot about the angry streaks of scar tissue in its place. It seemed like an ugly metaphor for Tony himself. The pieces that had made him _him_ were gone. He was incomplete, and yet somehow he still survived. As dangerous as it had been, he missed it, missed the warmth and the comfortable blue glow. Without it, there was no more light in the dark.

_The suit still has an arc reactor, though._

“Hey FRIDAY? Send up mark 100, will you?” Tony said as he stood up.

“On it, Boss.”

 A flight around the city would help clear his head. When he couldn’t stand being Tony Stark any more, at least he could still become the Iron Man.

“Come on, baby,” he said as the suit pieced together around him. “Let's go for a ride.”

…

Tony wasn’t planning on doing any vigilante business. This was strictly quality flying time, and technically speaking he wasn’t allowed to do anything vigilante-like without specific permission anyway, per the Accords that he himself had revised. There were exceptions, loopholes he’d written in, but that was only if someone was in clear and immediate danger, etcetera, etcetera. (Plus, as Peter liked to point out, being a vigilante in New York City was _his_ thing, and Tony didn’t want to take that away from him unless he really got himself into trouble.) So Tony avoided flying too low, sticking near the tops of the skyscrapers, just to keep himself from being tempted. New York was beautiful at night, and Tony had forgotten how much he enjoyed this view.

He found himself flying out of downtown and into the industrial district, which was a lot darker and a lot quieter. Tony had made some improvements to the suit that he hadn’t yet experimented with, and while he didn’t mind civilians getting a glimpse of the Iron Man every once in a while, he didn’t want any potentially-failed tests making it into the papers the following morning. He was booting up his upgraded flight systems when something caught his eye.

“Hey FRIDAY. You got any explanation for why somebody would be using an emergency flare in an alley?”

“Perhaps as some kind of marker, Boss?”

_What kind of group marks their secret meeting place with a fucking flare?_

“Let's go check it out.”

Tony lowered the suit down a block away. Realizing that the Iron Man would probably stick out like a sore thumb, he decided to power down. He could always call the suit again if he needed backup.

“Sorry, FRIDAY,” he murmured as the mark 100 disassembled. “Gonna run this one solo.”

Tony rounded the corner and saw the flare on the dark pavement, positioned in front of a fairly nondescript metal door. At the sound of someone approaching, he pressed himself against the wall, breathing silently through his nose. He watched from the shadows as a man glanced around, pushed the door open, and disappeared inside. Tony crept forward slowly, not making a sound as he followed.

The door opened onto a flight of stairs. Tony stood and waited until he heard the sound of footsteps die down, then followed, treading carefully on the old wood to make as little noise as possible. He descended into the dark, down two, three, four flights, until the stairs ended at what looked like it had once been a wine cellar. Clearly it hadn’t been stocked in a long time. Cobwebs hung from the ceiling, and some of the boards overhead were loose or missing. The whole place felt damp. He couldn’t hear or see anything at first, the room was so deep. Tony stepped down onto the cement floor, his breath coming out in a white puff of mist.

_Old, cold, dark, and damp. What the heck kind of group would be using this place?_

Finally after the first dozen feet there were lamps, and he could see figures in the back corner of the room. _What are they doing? Is this some kind of cult?_ He squinted and took another step closer.

It was group of men circled around what looked like an old-fashioned fist fight.

_You’ve gotta be kidding me._

“Oh my god. This is Fight Club. Is that what you guys are doing? Fight Club?”

Up until then, Tony had been silent - no one had noticed him come in. Several heads turned at the sound of his voice.

“Whoa, hey, hold up,” somebody said, and the fighting in the center stopped. That same somebody, a short, stocky blonde, stepped up to Tony.

“Who the hell are you?”

“You didn’t answer my question,” Tony said. “Is this a fight club?”

“What’s it to you?”

“Well I mean, if it is, you’re not exactly being subtle, are you? You left an emergency flare outside, people are gonna get curious and wander down here.”

“That what you did?” the blonde asked, and Tony shrugged.

“That’s my prerogative.” He scanned the men who had now gathered around to listen to their conversation. No shirts, no shoes, and several looked just a little beat up. One man’s nose was bleeding, and he wiped at it with the back of his hand. “This really is a fight club, isn’t it? I was hoping you were some kind of terrorist group or something. I gotta say, this is a bit of a disappointment.”

“Are you gonna tell us who you are, or am I gonna have to forcibly remove you?”

“Liam. That’s Tony Stark,” one of the other men said.

The blonde’s eyebrows rose, and he rubbed his hands together, grinning open-mouthed. “Tony Stark. T-Bone. The _Iron Man_.” He circled around Tony, and if Tony hadn’t had the suit as backup, that would’ve been a pretty effective tactic. “What’s the CEO of Stark Industries doin’ in a place like this?”

“Former. Former CEO,” Tony corrected.

“Once a corporate drone, always a corporate drone,” Liam shot back, spitting at Tony’s feet.

 _Okay, so these guys disapprove of The Man. Probably anti-corporation and anti-government, too,_ Tony thought.

Liam circled one more time, then stopped directly in front of him, taking a step into his personal space. “Okay, _former CEO_.” He looked Tony up and down appraisingly. “They say you’re a genius. That true?”

“Might want to have me take an IQ test, just to be safe,” Tony replied, earning him a scowl.

“Don’t be cute.”

“That’s like asking me not to breathe,” Tony countered, and suddenly a fist connected with his jaw. He blinked and stepped back, the pain rattling through his skull.

“C’mon, genius. Don’t tell me you didn’t see that coming,” Liam said. He crossed his arms and looked at Tony expectantly. “Doesn’t really matter how you got here. Only matters that you follow the rules. You do know the rules, don’tcha?”

The rules. Right, there were rules to fight club. _Holy shit, is this really happening? People actually do this?_ Tony thought. But… was there any harm in playing along? Something had made him come down here. Might as well let this play out and see what happened.

_Okay, rule one, don’t talk about fight club, rule two, don’t talk about fight club…_

“Rule eight. Right?”

“You got it.”

He glanced at the burn marks on his left hand. _You were looking for a long-term solution, Stark. This could be it._

“Yeah. Okay.” He toed off his shoes and unzipped his hoodie. “I'm in.”

…

The eighth and final rule: if this is your first night at fight club, you _have_ to fight.

Tony enjoyed fighting. He liked the quick thinking and the adrenaline rush, liked when he could outsmart someone with his body as well as his brain. He had sparred with almost everyone on the team at least once, and he’d done so many combat missions as Iron Man that he’d lost count. That was different, though. In this fight, he only had himself. No repulsors, no targeting systems, no FRIDAY. Just Tony Stark.

That almost made it more exciting.

He and Liam stood in the center of the circle, facing off. Natasha would’ve said this was the most important part of the fight, where you learn if your opponent is right or left handed, where you check out their form, see if they have any habits or tells before they attack. Tony had never been that good, but he did see the first punch coming a mile away. It flew at his face, and Tony brought his arm up, blocking the blow from underneath.

Another punch - Tony jumped out of the way. His reactions were a little too much, but he couldn’t help it. He was so used to hauling the suit around with him, he didn’t know quite how to move when it was just his own body. He needed to relax.

_Calm down, Stark, don’t over-correct._

Liam’s fist came at him again. Distracted knocking the blow away from his head, Tony entirely missed the punch to his gut. _Shit_. The breath blew out of him and he stumbled backward. He narrowly avoided the kick to his knee, staggering off balance, then threw an elbow into Liam’s throat.

Bad move. Liam grabbed his forearm and used it to spin Tony around, gripping below his shoulders hard enough to bruise before pulling him into a headlock. Tony tried to move and found himself solidly trapped, choking. Damn it, he was _not_ going to tap out. He dropped to his knees and kicked Liam’s legs out - or tried to. It wasn’t entirely successful, but it got Liam to relax his grip long enough for Tony to break away.

Liam was still finding his footing when Tony plowed straight into him, knocking them both to the ground. He scrabbled to his feet.

 _Stay down. Final warning_ , his mind supplied, and he shook his head. Now was really not the time.

 _I could do this all day_.

Fuck! Tony felt like he was phasing in and out of reality. He saw Liam getting up out of the corner of his eye and threw a blind punch that somehow connected with the side of Liam's face. And then Liam started to pummel him, and all Tony could do was block, and block, until his arms were tired and he was seeing double.

_You can’t beat him hand to hand!_

“No!” Tony shouted, blinking through the fog and charging forward. Now he was the one throwing punches, hitting Liam’s face over and over with his left hand until Liam was on the ground and Tony’s knuckles were raw and stained, and he wasn’t sure if that was Liam’s blood or his own.

Liam tapped out, and Tony jumped up and backed away, stunned.

“Shit,” he said, realizing that he’d probably fought harder than he’d meant to. “I’m sorry.”

Was he, though? That had felt…  _Good. The word you’re looking for is good._

All the points of pain, his ribs, his knuckles, his jaw, his arms, they burned away his feelings of guilt and rejection, cut through the overwhelming emotional load and eviscerated it. Every worry, every nagging thought was gone. He felt only pain, pain and a truckload of adrenaline surging through his veins.  

“Don’t apologize,” Liam said, hauling himself to his feet and dabbing at the blood on his face. His teeth were coated in red when he smiled. “Not bad for a first fight, new guy.”

...

 _Fight club. I still can’t believe it was a fucking fight club_ , Tony thought, chuckling to himself and then wincing at the pain in his diaphragm. He sank slowly into his chair, clutching an ice pack and groaning as his body finally relaxed.

Everything ached. His stomach was bruised, and he had deep purple marks on his biceps where Liam had grabbed and held on. His face, thankfully, was untouched except for the spot on his jaw where he’d taken that first punch. He supposed he had Steve to thank for that. Tony had gotten extremely good at blocking anything aimed at his head.

Tony pressed the ice against his jaw with his right hand and glanced down at his left. It was still raw, his knuckles swollen and bleeding. He flexed his fingers and cringed, because _shit_ that hurt. But they moved fine, so they weren’t broken.

He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, his mind comfortably blank. He sighed in relief. This felt just a little bit less fucked up than burning himself, because it didn’t really count as self-harm, right? Not when somebody else was doing the punching.

 _That’s a pretty fine line you’re riding there, Stark_.

He silenced the thought. This wasn’t just an excuse to get himself beat up.

_You sure about that?_

Well, okay, maybe it was. But he was dealing blows as well as taking them, and he could use the sparring practice. He could justify this to himself, and if he could keep the marks on his face to a minimum, there was nothing that said he couldn’t keep it up and still keep it a secret.

Tony woke up five hours later, slumped in his chair, ice still clutched in his hand. When had he fallen asleep?

He yawned and stretched against the soreness that had settled into his muscles. He should probably have Bruce take a look at his hand. He could explain that away easily enough, and he would have a hell of a time wrapping it himself. He stood up and set the ice on the table, then froze with a sudden realization: he’d slept through the night and hadn’t had a single dream.

 _Doesn’t matter how fucked up it is_ , Tony thought. _Just matters that it works._  

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thanks so much for reading! 
> 
> I do want to be clear that this is not a Steve-bashing fic, so while the events of Civil War are technically responsible for some of Tony's PTSD, I don't want to blame Steve outright for Tony's panic attacks or flashbacks. Steve doesn't try to trigger Tony, and Steve isn't personally to blame for Tony's mental health issues. A lot of factors contribute to Tony's problems (just as many factors often contribute to a person's declining mental health), and while Steve triggers the flashback in this chapter, in this particular scenario, it's more complicated than it being one person's fault.


	2. Spiraling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony goes further down the rabbit hole. (Is that Ultron in his head?) Clint is less of an asshole. Steve sticks his nose into other people's business.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated the archive warnings to include Graphic Violence because some of the descriptions of fight club are borderline, and I'd rather be safe than sorry. 
> 
> For those of you that haven't seen Inception, it's referenced in this chapter - that being said, there aren't THAT many references, and if you read a summary of the movie everything should make sense.

“Tony. You have to let me give you a physical.”

Bruce had finished cleaning and wrapping Tony’s injured knuckles, and was rustling around in a cabinet looking for something stronger than tylenol or ibuprofen.

It had been easy enough to convince Bruce that he'd beat up his hand working too hard in the gym. At least, it had seemed easy. Bruce could've been humoring him, pretending to believe him because it wasn't worth pressing for the truth. Whether or not that was the case, at least it was taken care of for now, and his friend hadn't fussed over him too much in the process.

Bruce had returned to the compound after the trial, although Tony had known where he was almost from the moment he'd gone missing. When you could hack into most of the world’s cameras and had access to facial recognition software, tracking a person down became not a matter of if, but _when_. Tony knew something about not wanting to be found, though. It would've been a violation of trust to reach out, or to let the team know he knew where Bruce was. So when he’d gotten the first hit from Australia, he hadn't made any attempts to contact his friend. He’d just kept tabs on him, made sure he was okay.

Once Bruce was back on U.S. soil, Tony had insisted he be grandfathered into the original Accords (at least, until he'd pushed his revisions through). He’d gotten some pushback on that, but in the end, he’d gotten his way, because Tony was a bull-headed steamroller who didn’t take no for an answer. Bruce hadn't had any trouble signing, either. He’d said that as much as the Hulk could be controlled, he should be. Too bad they hadn't had him on their side in their big fight on the tarmac. With the Hulk, they definitely would've won.

Tony hopped down off the exam table and tugged his hoodie back on, thankful he’d worn a loose shirt. Didn’t want to draw Bruce’s attention to anything he didn’t need to concern himself with. Besides, Tony wasn’t gaunt, just a little too skinny. And he probably wouldn’t pass a physical exam, which was what prompted his almost-too-casual response.

“I don’t see why. I fly fine. I fight fine. Plus, I don’t like being examined.”

Bruce gave him a look. “I know you enjoy being the special snowflake, Tony, but everyone is getting a physical. I can schedule you at the end of the month, but if you don’t let me do it, they’ll probably try to confine you to the compound.”

Tony definitely didn't want that.

“Okay, fine. Just schedule mine last?”

Bruce nodded reluctantly, setting down the bottle of oxycodone he’d found and pulling up the holo-calendar. He flipped through and wrote Tony’s name in for 11am on the 30th. Good. That would give him three weeks to figure some of his shit out so he could actually _pass_ the damn thing.

Of course, three weeks wouldn’t be enough if he didn’t eat.

He knew that it was only a matter of time before this became unsustainable. Sooner or later something would have to give, like it always did - and Tony would deal with the fallout then. He couldn't stop now. It wasn’t just about self-denial any more, it was about control. _I have this. This is mine. You can’t tell me how to do it or if it’s right. You can’t try to manipulate it. It belongs to me._ It was a power he held that he didn’t want to give up.

“Sorry, ’m I interrupting?”

Bruce and Tony both looked up to see Bucky standing in the doorway, one hand awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck.

“No,” Bruce said. “I was just trying to convince Tony that it’d be much less stressful for everyone involved if he had his physical sooner rather than later.”

“He’s right. I already had mine,” Bucky said, and Tony did his best ‘not you too’ scowl. “Tests sort of freak me out, though. Just wanted to have it over and done with.”

A pang of sympathy distracted Tony from his irritation. He didn’t want his exam because he knew he wouldn’t pass. Bucky hadn’t wanted it because he probably had PTSD about that kind of thing.

_You’re not exactly a paragon of mental health yourself, though, are you?_

“So, what’s up, buttercup?” Tony asked, feeling idiotic the minute the words left his mouth. Something about Bucky made his brain leave the building. He couldn’t count the number of times he’d almost said, or _actually_ said,  something similarly stupid to the Soldier in the workshop. Oddly enough, Bucky never seemed to mind.

“I wanted to talk to you,” Bucky said to Tony, then shot a sideways glance at Bruce. “Alone? If that’s okay?”

Bruce kept his expression composed, but Tony could see the faint hint of a smile, and he knew Bruce was logging this away for later, probably to use to make fun of him. “Yeah, sure. I’ll, uh… I’ll go grab a coffee.”

He closed out of the calendar and crossed the room to exit. The door slid shut, and Bucky and Tony were alone.

“I wanted to apologize,” Bucky said, immediately looking at the ground. “I didn’t mean to blow you off last night. I’m sorry.”

It had barely been twelve hours, and Bucky was already seeking him out to say he was sorry? _Maybe he missed you,_ his brain teased. Or maybe Bucky knew exactly how upset Tony had been, because maybe Bucky got lonely too.

“It’s okay,” Tony said. “I ended up getting some good work done.”

_If by ‘work’ you mean discovering a whole new level of self-destructiveness._

“Looks like you also got yourself injured,” Bucky said, nodding his head at Tony’s bandaged left hand.

“Ah. Yeah. I wasn’t wearing gloves, and the bag hit back,” Tony lied.

Bucky chuckled. “Well be more careful next time. I like your hands.”

Bucky said it with such sincerity that Tony was caught off guard, and he felt his face grow hot.

“So what happened? You ditch me for a hot date?” Tony asked.

“I was... havin’ a rough night. Strugglin’ to keep myself in the present. Didn’t think you’d wanna be around that.”

“Oh. Shit.” _Nice one, Stark_. “I wouldn’t have minded, you know. You shouldn’t have to deal with that alone.”

“I’ll call you next time,” Bucky said, then backtracked. “If that’s okay?”

“More than okay.” And there was that sincerity again, except this time it was coming out of Tony’s mouth.

“Sorry about Clint, too,” Bucky said. “Those guys are assholes.”

Damn it, had everyone heard about that? Tony shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets, which had apparently become his nervous tick.

“They have every right to be mad.”

“No they don't. You did so much for them. For me.”

Tony frowned.

_What?_

Did that mean Bucky _knew_? That wasn’t possible. How would he have found out? Tony had taken every precaution to make sure that didn’t happen. He took a step back, feeling suddenly exposed.

“What… How much do you know?”

Bucky looked apologetic. “Everything."

“Oh?” Tony tried at nonchalance, but it came out sounding strangled.

“I sort of made T’Challa tell me. Threatened to expose him for harboring fugitives unless he explained how he'd come up with a brainwashing cure and gotten me pardoned when I never saw him do any work. It all seemed too convenient.”

Bucky Barnes wasn’t playing around. Tony would’ve been impressed if he hadn’t still felt rattled by T’Challa’s betrayal.

_Everybody breaks their promises. Haven’t you learned that by now?_

“So you’ve known this whole time?”

Bucky looked away. “Yeah. I knew you didn’t want me to know, so I didn’t say anythin’ to you. To anyone.” A pause, Bucky daring to glance up and look him in the eye. “Can I ask why?”

“Why I don't want people to know?”

“No. Why you _fixed_ me. Fought for me. Nobody asked you to.”

Tony heard ‘I wasn’t worth the trouble’ echoing through those words, and part of his closing argument from the trial came bubbling up so forcefully that he had to clamp down his jaw to keep from saying it out loud.

_“Look. There's no precedent to fall back on here. But you saw what they did to him. The question shouldn't be ‘is he guilty.’ The question should be how we allowed it to happen in the first place. How we make it up to him.”_

Of course he'd memorized it. He’d memorized all of it, down to the punctuation, with personal commentary included. That was how much it had mattered to him. If his files had gone missing, if someone had tried to sabotage him at the last minute, Tony could’ve given his entire side of the argument from memory, verbatim. To this day, he could still recite it with his eyes closed. Bucky clearly didn't know _everything_ , because he certainly didn’t know that.

“I did it because it was right,” Tony said finally. “And because I wanted to.”

So many emotions passed over Bucky’s face, and Tony could only decipher a few. Surprise. Confusion. Gratitude.

“I owe you,” Bucky murmured, and Tony narrowed his eyes.

“No. You don't owe me anything.” His tone left no room for argument. _It’s meant to be a gift. It isn’t fair to make it anything else._ “Thank you for keeping it to yourself.”

Bucky smiled gently. “Anythin’ for you.” The earnestness in Bucky’s face tugged at his heartstrings, and that happened so infrequently that Tony could only stare, blinking dumbly. “Wish they knew, though. They’d treat ya different.”

“That’s exactly why I don’t want them to know.”

“But they’re bullyin’ you for no reason.”

“Trust me, they have a reason.”

“They’re ungrateful.”

“I don’t need anybody to be grateful to me.”

Tony let out a silent gasp when Bucky stepped close to him and took his face in his hands, metal and flesh grasping both sides of his jaw.

“You take so much credit for your mistakes and then none for the things you do right.” Bucky was close enough that Tony could see the flecks of grey in his blue eyes, could count each individual eyelash. He watched the slow dilation of Bucky’s pupils. “That’s pretty stupid, doll. Thought you were supposed to be smart.”

“You have too high an opinion of me,” Tony managed, his voice quiet and raspy. He swallowed hard as the heat from Bucky’s hands radiated through him. He felt shell-shocked, and all Bucky had done so far was touch his face.

“Can’t help it. Got a pretty big blind spot where you’re concerned. Hope you won’t hold it against me.”

Tony’s heart hammered in his chest, because he couldn’t tell for sure, but he had a very strong feeling that Bucky Barnes was about to kiss him. The Soldier’s pupils were blown wide now, and his gaze dropped to Tony’s lips before flicking up, blue eyes searching brown.

Gently, Bucky pulled him closer. Tony’s eyes slid shut as their lips connected, shocking his system, setting him on fire.

At first, the kiss was a question - a request. ‘I need your permission,’ it said. Tony granted it with enthusiasm, and when Bucky pulled away to look at him, to ask if this was okay, Tony effectively silenced him by fusing their mouths back together.

Things escalated quickly after that.

Bucky's lips were hard and demanding, and he pressed his advantage with bruising force, claiming Tony’s mouth like it had always belonged to him. His metal hand moved back, fingers threading into the hair at the nape of Tony’s neck and giving a sharp tug. Tony gasped, and then Bucky’s tongue was in his mouth, sweeping and taking, drawing out a deep moan that must’ve come from Tony, though he had no memory of making the sound.

There was no fight for dominance. Bucky was in absolute control, and Tony whimpered his surrender, allowing Bucky to bend him back over the exam table. Tony’s uninjured hand fisted into Bucky’s shirt, clinging to him, trying to pull him closer. The kiss became a clash of lips and teeth, Tony just barely holding his own against the onslaught. He pulled back only when the need for oxygen became more overwhelming than Bucky's insistent tongue. 

“What,” he started, but then Bucky’s lips were brushing his ear and the question died in his throat.

“Said I’d make it up to you, didn’t I?” Bucky drew back, looking at him with vulnerable eyes. “Is this - am I-”

“Reading this right? Absolutely, yes. Yeah.” And then Bucky kissed him again, and all Tony could do was yield, holding on for dear life.

The sound of the door sliding open surprised them both.

Their mouths disconnected quickly, but Bucky took his time extricating himself from Tony, not moving more than a few inches away even when the grip on his shirt slackened.

“Do you guys need some more time? It is my lab, but I could come back later…”

Tony glanced up at Bruce and caught the glint of mischief in his eye. _Moment ruiner_ , he thought.

“Sorry,” Bucky said in a deep rumble that sounded more aroused than apologetic. He stepped further back to give Tony his space. “We were just talkin’, and I got a little carried away.”

“I didn't mind,” Tony said. Bucky smiled, and when he dropped a kiss on the corner of Tony’s mouth, Tony couldn’t help but shiver.

Bucky said something to Bruce as he left - maybe another apology? - but Tony didn’t hear it over the blood rushing in his ears. He rubbed a hand over his face, dazed.

 _Holy hell,_ he thought. _That was… damn._

“Seems like you had a good talk,” Bruce said with a smirk. He strolled back over to his computer, coffee in hand, and Tony rolled his eyes.

“Shut up.”

Bruce shrugged innocently, finding the misplaced bottle of pain medicine and tossing it to Tony. He was silent for long enough that Tony thought the conversation was over.

“So, are you guys a couple now?”

Tony glowered at him. “Don't make me throw something at you.”

“You wouldn't.”

Bruce ducked just in time to avoid the reflex hammer as it sailed toward this head.

...

Between fight club the night before and his ‘conversation’ with Bucky, Tony felt good. And not the sinister kind of good that only made him feel more guilty in the end. The real kind of good, like he was floating above everything. Like his problems couldn’t touch him. It was as though someone had turned down the volume and he could finally concentrate. 

After apologizing for throwing things at Bruce (although he wasn’t quite sure he was sorry), Tony had returned to the workshop, in a hurry to get started on his new prosthetic design. This would be a time-consuming process, because it meant he’d have to test the durability and flexibility of certain metals, consider what kind of base to use, determine how many moving parts the arm should have, decide whether it should be stronger than a regular arm, and if so, by how much.

And that was just the physical portion. Then came the research into how the arm connected to the brain, how to enhance the neural connection and give Bucky more feeling without overwhelming him. That would probably be the most difficult part. He didn’t want to do tests on Bucky, not after what he’d said in the lab about those kinds of things freaking him out. He’d have to cannibalize some of the information T’Challa’s team had gathered when installing the arm and hope that was a good enough place to start. Tony ran tests for hours on different alloys, trying not to revert back to the same materials his suits were made of, because damn it, this wasn’t the same thing. This was supposed to mirror a real human appendage. He couldn’t just use his old standby. He had to pick something perfect.

Tony buried himself in his work, for once not to distract himself from his problems, but because he was _excited_ about what he was making. This would be useful to Bucky, could even be useful to other amputees if he got a good handle on the technology and could figure out a way to keep production costs low. _This could be my new legacy_ , he thought. And sure, that was ambitious, but this was something the world could use, something that could help the people he himself had injured in his days as the Merchant of Death.

When it was finally time for a break, because he was feeling tired and needed a caffeine boost, he sat down with a cup of coffee in his hand and stared at his blueprints, imagining what his design would look like in place of Bucky’s current prosthetic.

And that sent him in a different direction entirely. He was reminded of Bucky's hand behind his head, the sharp pull at his hair. Bucky’s hot mouth on his. He wondered how far he would’ve let things go if Bruce hadn’t interrupted them.

_You certainly didn’t seem interested in stopping him._

Tony wasn’t sure he could’ve stopped him, and not because he didn’t have the physical strength. Inside that kiss, nothing else had existed. Nothing else had come close to being important. He had let Bucky push him, pull him, open him up and bend him backward. He’d abandoned control like it had never mattered to him. And that had only been a _kiss_. Imagine what it would have felt like to have more.

He stopped that thought in its tracks, because allowing it to go further would have meant fantasizing about Bucky in a way that was too self-indulgent. He swallowed down the rest of his coffee and stood, stretching. Only a few more hours until dusk.

_Until fight club, you mean. You’re already addicted, aren’t you?_

That was his personality. Compulsion, obsession, addiction. Punishment and reward tangled up in an impossible web in his head. But so what if he had been thinking about fight club since the second he’d left the night before? It was hard not to when it had been such a revelation.

‘We fight every night, Stark,’ Liam had said. ‘Just look for the flare.’

Tony set an alarm on his phone so he wouldn’t be tempted to check the time again. He started in on pulling T’Challa’s records on the arm, still counting the minutes in his head.

...

Finally. Finally finally finally.

Those last two hours had felt like a million years, time moving more slowly than it ever had. When his alarm had gone off, he’d jumped up so fast he’d almost broken his chair, and he’d had the suit on and been in the air in a matter of seconds.

Tony’s hand was still bandaged, and he hadn’t taken any of Bruce’s medicine - he hadn’t taken any medicine at all. The pain was part of the point. Other than his knuckles, though, he wasn’t any the worse for wear. He’d be fine to fight. 

Just six blocks from where he’d been the night before, Tony spotted the flare, a red beacon on the pavement. “Bingo,” he said touching down and powering off the suit. This time the entrance was a small wooden door, and Tony had to duck on his way in. There were no stairs, just a dark, narrow hallway that led to a room on the far end of the building.

“Howdy, boys,” Tony said, stripping his shirt and his shoes, belatedly noticing that tonight, they’d be fighting in a dance studio. Mirrors and ballet barres lined three of the four walls. The wood floor looked old and stained. Probably a good thing, considering it would soon be covered with spit, sweat, and blood.

“Stark,” Liam said, nodding his head in Tony’s direction.

“So what, you pick a new place every night?”

“It’s a weekly rotation,” the blonde answered.

“To avoid cops,” said another man. Tony didn’t know his name - was he supposed to? Or did they not do names in fight club? He honestly couldn't remember.

“So, genius, you ready to get started? I'm cravin’ a rematch,” Liam said.

Tony glanced around. There weren't nearly as many men as there had been the night before. Was that normal? “Are we not waiting on anyone?”

“They get here when they get here,” Liam said with a shrug.

Tony couldn't help the grin that spread across his face. “Works for me.”

…

Liam was easier to beat this time, which could’ve been because he was still tired from the night before. It was more likely, though, that Tony was just _on_. It was like someone had flipped a switch. The minute he stepped into the center of the circle, the blinders went up, the background noise receding to give him singular focus on his target. Was this better than the suit? No. It was just different. It was more raw, because the power behind him wasn't in metal or thrusters. It was in him, in his muscles, in his bones.

He slammed into Liam’s shoulder and pummeled his abdomen with five quick, close punches before Liam could react, then knifed his elbow up. It made a resounding _crack_ against the blonde’s jaw. Liam tapped out and stumbled back.

“Damn, Stark. Don't waste it all on me.”

“Don't worry,” Tony said, wiping spit from his chin. “Still got plenty left.”

Fight number two. The man who volunteered was six feet tall and skinny as a rail. He was all legs and arms, but there was very little strength behind his hits. He threw a punch at Tony’s head, and Tony dodged, wrapping his arm up under the shoulder and holding on. A quick step and Tony pivoted, using as much force as he could to throw the larger man over his hip and onto the floor. It was a judo move, one he normally wouldn't have tried without the suit, but if fight club was meant to double as sparring practice, there was no time like the present. The other man hit the the hardwood with a thunk.

_That’s what I’m talking about._

Tony hadn’t realized before how satisfying it felt, to bend another person to his will, to force someone’s body to the floor.

“Stop,” the man said, shaking his head as Tony started to advance on him again. Tony stepped back, breathing hard.

Fight number three. Tony was worn out, but he wasn't about to stop. _Scrappy_ was the word that came to mind; that was how he envisioned himself, how he wanted to be. He was easily one of the smallest fighters there, not too tall, not much muscle to work with, comparatively speaking. But he understood the mechanics of the fight. He knew just enough from Natasha’s martial arts lessons to be a little bit dangerous. And he was learning fast.

Man number three tried to kick Tony’s knees out. Tony jumped back, avoiding the hit but throwing himself off balance in the process. A punch came at Tony's head, and his dodge brought him off his shaky feet and onto the floor, landing straight on his elbow. _Fuck_ that hurt. When he looked down the skin at the joint was split and bleeding. Man number three was about to tackle him, and Tony rolled out of the way, jumping up and launching himself onto the other man’s back. And then they were standing, Tony’s arms locked around his neck, squeezing tightly man number three tapped out. Tony was thankful he hadn’t thought to fall backward and crush Tony under his weight.

_Three for three. Looking good, Stark._

Fight number four. He'd had a break, but Tony was flagging. Of the punches that came toward him, he could only block one of every few, and that meant he took several hits to the arm and a hard heel to the shin. He should’ve tapped out sooner, should’ve realized he was tired. Being in the suit was so different, because it was always easy to tell when the fight was done, and telemetry made any kind of self-evaluation irrelevant. He didn’t know how to recognize his body’s cues, because up until now, he’d never had to.

The punch to his nose took him by surprise, and he fell flat on his back, tasting blood in his mouth.

“Whoa,” he said, holding his arm up to his face as he stood. “Okay, that’s enough. I’m out.” He stumbled, the room just a little bit tilted in his vision. Too many mirrors, and he couldn’t get his balance. He dropped to his knees.

“C’mon, Stark,” said the man from earlier that night, grabbing him by the shoulder and hauling him backward so he was resting against the mirror. Tony reached up and took hold of the barre, gripping tightly against the dizziness. He pinched the bridge of his nose with his free hand to stop the bleeding. Pain blossomed and burned through his face, and it was enough to anchor him, to make the room stop spinning quite so fast. That punch hadn’t been nearly hard enough to give him a concussion. So what the hell was this? 

Tony stayed seated for the rest of the night, watching the fights while blood hardened and crusted on his nose, on his chin, around his lips. When they were finally done, it was midnight, and the dizziness had become a dull murmur that he could ignore, at least until the morning. For now, he wanted to revel in this. He may have lost the last round, but he still felt incredible. Invincible.

_Yep. Still working. And definitely still worth it._

...

Tony hadn’t meant to fall asleep. When he’d gotten back to the compound, he’d wanted to take a shower, wash his face, brush his teeth. He’d made it as far as the couch in his workshop, then passed out, exhausted, the suit still on.

He opened his eyes and pulled the faceplate off, taking a deep breath. Waking up inside the suit always gave him that feeling of falling from the sky, although he was relieved to discover it didn’t give him panic attacks any more.

“FRIDAY, is there a reason you didn’t wake me up?”

“You were out cold, Boss. I made four attempts with no success.”

“Oh,” he said, standing up and taking off the suit. “Sorry.” He stumbled into the bathroom, giving himself a once-over in the mirror.

_You look terrible, Stark. Next time don’t bite off more than you can chew._

There was no visible bruising on his face, thank goodness, but there was blood caked everywhere. He pulled a washcloth out of the drawer and ran it under warm water, then started to dab at the dried splatters. With no shower in his workshop - well, there was a chemical shower, but that was only to be used in chemical emergencies, which this wasn’t - he’d have to go back to his room to get fully cleaned up, and he couldn’t go meandering around the compound covered in blood. That would just be stupid.

In hindsight, he probably should’ve quit after fight number two, but by that point his higher brain function hadn’t been online. He’d been too zoned-in to care, and too strung out on adrenaline to notice the ache in his muscles or the throbbing in his head. Once he started fighting, everything else fell away; it was what he liked so much about fight club. Unfortunately, that meant that he sometimes didn’t make the best judgment calls in terms of knowing when to quit.

He gripped the edges of the sink as the room spun, his dizzy spell returning with a vengeance. _Shit._ Tony sank to his knees and leaned his head against the vanity, closing his eyes. This wasn’t normal. This was bad. Maybe this was that moment where he was supposed to realize he needed help, though he didn’t really know what was wrong in the first place. Dizziness usually came from inner ear trouble, right? He’d gotten knocked around last night, but not badly enough to explain anything like that.

“Boss. May I make a suggestion?”

“Sure, FRIDAY, shoot.”

“You’d feel better if you ate something.”

Fuck.

Tony didn’t _feel_ hungry, but FRIDAY was right: this was a direct result of not eating enough. ‘A body needs fuel, and when you don’t give it that fuel, it starts to steal it from your fat stores, from your muscles. It doesn’t respond well to being treated poorly.’ He remembered those words from a doctor in college, though he couldn’t even remember the doctor’s face. He had passed out during one of his finals and then been escorted to the infirmary because he wasn’t ‘taking good enough care of himself.’

This was obviously one of Tony’s favorite patterns. But just because he could see the pattern for what it was, didn’t mean he had the capacity to stop. That was one of the many problems with being a genius. You saw things other people couldn’t see, but when you tried to fix them, your solutions fell short, if they made it off the ground at all. Tony was smart, but he was still human, and the smart part of him was constantly watching, screaming in agony as the human part fucked things up again and again.

If his AI was telling him to eat, he probably needed to do it. It didn’t have to be much - just enough to keep his whole system from freaking out or shutting down. _It’s not a loss of control. It’s a choice. You’re no use to anybody if you’re passed out on the ground._

There was no food to speak of in his workshop, he realized. That had originally been somebody’s dirty trick, withholding food to get him to socialize. The attempt had backfired, since he’d decided that food and company were both things he could do without. It wasn’t very convenient now, though. He’d have to go to the kitchen, if he could actually get his body to move. He sat for a few minutes longer, opening his eyes and waiting until the room steadied, until the edges of his vision sharpened. When Tony stood, he did so gradually, gripping the slate countertop for support.

He was fine. No cause for alarm. This was just a temporary issue. At least, that was what he told himself as he walked slowly, carefully, out into the hall.

...

It was late enough in the morning that Tony was hoping the kitchen would be empty. Most people ate breakfast before ten - Tony had slept a lot later than he’d planned - but as he walked into the kitchen, he saw the back of someone’s head as they rummaged through a cupboard.

Of course it was Clint. That was absolutely his luck. Clint turned around and saw him, and Tony couldn’t tell what that look was, but he assumed it wasn’t anything good.

“Sorry. Didn’t know you were in here,” Tony said, stopping at the island and leaning against it, trying to look casual.

“It’s fine. This is your kitchen, too.”

“Right.” Tony looked away awkwardly. “Can you pass me the saltines?”

“Sure.” Clint took the box off the counter and tossed it to Tony, who caught it with trembling hands. He pulled out a plastic sleeve and tore into it, feeling himself salivate and hating himself for it.

“Hey. Uh. Do you have a sec?” Clint asked as Tony stuffed three crackers into his mouth at once. Tony nodded, chewing. “I wanted to apologize. About giving you a hard time the other day. You were doing something nice, and I was an asshole about it. I'm sorry.”

Tony swallowed thickly and set the sleeve down on the counter. Well that was unexpected. _Don’t Avengers usually hold grudges for, I don’t know, ever?_

“Thanks,” Tony said. He smiled, though it felt a little forced, and Clint smiled back. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

“Are you busy tonight? We’re all watching a movie… You should come.”

Tony considered this for a moment. “What movie?” he asked.

“Inception,” Clint said, and Tony made a face. “Don’t ask me, it was Vision’s pick. Since he doesn’t sleep, he’s developed this really weird obsession with dreams.”

 _T_ _ell him he and I can trade,_ Tony thought. _I’d take not needing to sleep over dreaming any day._

“I don’t know. I have a lot of work to do.”

Clint wouldn’t have been very good at poker. He was trying not to look frustrated, Tony could tell, but the effort fell short. “Come on, Stark. I’m trying, here. Would it kill you to try, too?”

Tony sighed. Clint was right. This was an open invitation to spend time with the team, and he ought to take it.

“Okay. Fine. I’ll be there.”

...

Tony had spent his afternoon watching MMA videos, trying to learn as many new moves as he could for fight club while simultaneously trying to come up with an excuse for why he couldn't make it to movie night.

Except Tony didn't have an excuse. Not a legitimate one. Fight club wouldn't start until closer to nine, and the movie would be done by then. Not that he could've used fight club as an excuse anyway. ‘Sorry guys, I’ve gotta go hit people for fun, so I think I’ll pass.’ Yeah, right.

It would be good for him, he assured himself. Tony wasn't used to doing things that were good for him, because they tended to feel like chores, or else they were awkward and difficult and a pain in the ass. But this, he needed to do. He'd called Rhodey the other night because he'd been worried sick about what the team thought of him. This could be important bridge building, and he needed to suck it up and get it done.

Most everyone was already in the common room when Tony arrived. He tried not to draw any attention to himself, making a beeline for the couch and taking a seat.

“Good to see you, Stark,” Natasha said from her spot in the floor, leaning against Bruce’s legs.

“Not trying to sound rude, but what’re you doing here? I thought these group activities weren't your thing,” Sam said.

“I was coerced,” Tony replied.

“He was _invited_ ,” Clint corrected, sitting next to Wanda and Vision, which was brave of him considering they were cuddling and looking dangerously affectionate. When had that happened? Maybe Tony had missed more than he'd realized, holed up in his workshop.

Tony pulled a blanket up over himself, and it felt like deja-vu, because group movie nights had been a pretty consistent routine before everything had gone to hell. It felt like looking at a painting you'd seen a thousand times before, except that some of the colors had changed and there were things that had gone missing. It made you wonder if the painting been altered, or if things looked different in your memory than they actually were.

Rhodey was apparently out on a _date_ , which Tony had only discovered when he’d texted his friend asking where the hell he was, and how dare he stand Tony up at a time like this. That was good, though. Rhodey deserved to be happy, after the rough time he'd had literally getting back on his feet.

Steve and Bucky were the last to join the group, trundling in just as Sam was hitting the lights. Steve did the smart thing and stayed far away from Tony. Bucky did the opposite. The Soldier plopped down next to him, sitting cross legged, and Tony gave him a small smile.

“Hi,” Tony said quietly as Sam found his seat and the movie started.

“Hey,” Bucky replied. “Is it okay that I-”

“Sit here? Yeah, of course.”

They were silent for the first twenty minutes, through the setup and exposition. Tony knew the plot of this movie, he just hadn’t taken the time to watch it before. He'd had more important things on his mind than movies since… Well, since the battle of New York, actually.

This was probably a stupid idea, watching a movie about dreams. Aside from Vision, he didn't know a single person in this room that hadn't had persistent nightmares about one traumatic experience or another. This might just give everyone the heebie-jeebies. But nobody had argued over the movie choice, so despite his original reluctance to actually show up, Tony tried to relax and enjoy himself, only feeling a little bit distracted by the fact that Bucky was sitting beside him.

...

The part of the movie that upset Tony most was Mal. Granted, the idea of being in a dream within a dream, not having any certainty whether the current moment was or was not in fact reality, was eerie. But Tony didn't become truly uncomfortable until Ariadne was in the elevator, intruding on Cobb’s dream and discovering Mal for what she was - a disturbing projection of Cobb’s subconscious guilt. A pernicious mental parasite that wouldn't leave, one that Cobb actually _protected_ despite her desire to kill everyone.

Tony saw his own mind on the screen in front of him, every terrible thing he’d done a different level locked up inside his own subconscious, each an experience he'd revisit while asleep, whether he wanted to or not. He was just like Cobb, compelled to protect the things that caused him pain, hiding them away and holding onto them, unable to let them go.

“You okay?”

He thought he'd been keeping it pretty well together, but he'd forgotten how sensitive Bucky was to the slightest physical shift. Tony took a breath and tried (again) to relax.

“Yeah. Yeah, I just… This is a little too familiar is all.”

Bucky nodded. “I dream about falling," he said.

Tony glanced over at him. “Me too.”

They watched the rest of the movie in relative silence, Bucky occasionally whispering to Tony and Tony trying to pretend it wasn't as distracting as it absolutely was. When the credits rolled, Tony looked around to see that most of the team had fallen asleep.

“Amateurs,” Tony said, and Bucky laughed.

“They always do this. They get ambitious tryin’ to watch a long movie and then pass out in the middle.”

“Do we wake them up?”

“Nah. Just leave ’em. Vision will take care of it.” Bucky stood, and Tony followed suit, trailing after Bucky as he stepped into the hall.

Tony took a final look before leaving the room. It reminded him so much of how things had been before. Peaceful. Simple. He felt his heart burst with love for his friends.

_They don’t want you. And you don’t deserve them._

It was like a bucket of ice water had been dumped over his head. He was chilled to the bone that his mind had even supplied those words, and he looked at the ground, his heart racing. Was that true? Did he not deserve them?

_You know it’s true. You’ll never be good enough._

This had been a bad idea. He stepped quickly out of the room without looking back, trying to shake the feeling that he was losing the Avengers all over again.

...

Tony really hadn’t meant to make out with Bucky, especially not after his thoughts had all but assaulted him. He’d meant to disappear and go straight to fight club, but when Bucky had taken his hand and pulled him around the corner, Tony hadn’t stopped him. He’d found himself up against the wall, Bucky’s mouth on his neck, his ear, his lips. He’d allowed what was probably ten minutes of this before he’d made his excuses and pried himself away.

Fight club was in an old meat cellar this time. It was cold and dry, and Tony found himself moving just to keep warm between fights. _Really, how the hell do they find these places?_

His knuckles had healed some, so naturally the first thing Tony did was throw a punch with his left hand, connecting with his opponent’s jaw and splitting the scabs open. It gave him what he wanted. The pain slicing up his hand cleared his mind, and so he did it again, and again, and again.

Considering he'd overdone it the night before, Tony was proud of himself for only picking two fights this time. The second fight took longer, dragging out. He couldn't seem to get a grip on the other man - Jack? Was that his name? Tony thought so but he wasn't sure.

They danced around each other for a while, Tony going for agility instead of force this time. It worked until Jack got fed up with his target running away, and Tony was just a hair too slow to stop a big burly hand from closing around his throat. He couldn't breathe. The lights around him dimmed, and was that real or was that just him losing oxygen? _It's the oxygen, moron,_ he thought. His vision swam, and darkness threatened at the corners of his eyes.

Tony tapped out.

The pressure was gone and he could breathe again. He gasped, gulping down a lungful of air and swaying on his feet. The stinging didn't subside right away, and he backed up into the circle, closing his eyes. That was more like it. This was the feeling he’d been craving. Pain, sharp in his body and his mind, and nothing else.

_This is all you need, Stark. Just surrender to it._

...

Hours later, Tony was still lying awake on the floor of his workshop. He'd tried to sleep, but found he was too tightly wound, the pain after the fight no longer enough to slow the servos of his mind. The overwhelming emotions from the previous days kept to their respective corners, but his thoughts were still on overdrive, pulling him in a thousand different directions.

_Come on, get it together, Stark._

Fight club was supposed to make this better. And it _had_ been helping, it really had. The pain was a wonderful, blissful distraction, and the adrenaline was a high he couldn’t get enough of. Some of his signature Stark swagger had even returned, although whether or not that was a good thing was still open for debate. When his days became unbearable, or the spin of his mental kaleidoscope was too much for him to process, he could go to fight club and find relief.

But the relief was becoming more and more short-lived. Even with the ache in his hand and elbow, he was too scattered. The pain made him zone in and out, but couldn't fully clear the haze. He sighed, covering his face with his arm to try and force himself to sleep.

He couldn’t stop thinking about that damn movie. About Cobb. No matter where he went, Mal haunted him, asleep and awake; he could no longer tell the difference between what was real and what wasn’t. Tony was uncomfortably familiar with that experience. And Tony, like Cobb, had done it to himself. He’d had the similar misfortune of being directly responsible for any number of really terrible things, things that had hurt him and the ones he loved. Extremis. Ultron. Even Vision. Though the android was ultimately good, he had nearly paralyzed Tony’s best friend.

_If you think about it, Siberia was your fault, too. Without Ultron, those Accords wouldn’t exist._

He needed to stop. He could feel himself getting agitated, and he’d give himself a panic attack if he didn’t calm down.

He picked up his phone, only realizing after he’d dialed that he was calling Pepper. That was a reflex, an old habit that just wouldn’t die. Part of him didn’t expect her to answer. With the shit he put her through on a regular basis, any amount of time she gave him was more than he deserved.

“Tony, it's the middle of the night.”

“I know. I know, I'm sorry.” His grip on the phone tightened. He shouldn’t have called. “Do you want me to go?”

“No. It's okay.” He heard rustling on the other end of the line, like bed sheets being pushed back. “What's wrong?”

“Can’t sleep.”

“I know,” Pepper replied, sounding both amused and annoyed. “I assumed there was more than that.”

“There usually is.” He took a deep breath. “Do you like me? I mean, as a person.”

“Yes, of course I do.”

“You don’t think I’m difficult? Obsessive?”

“Tony, what is this about?" 

“I know you said it was no one’s fault. But that wasn’t true, was it? It was me. _I’m_ the reason you stopped loving me.” Tony sighed, trying not to sound defeated as he sat up. “Am I wrong?”

Pepper was silent for a long time.

“I still love you, Tony.”

“You know what I mean. In a romantic way.”

“I’m not a perfect person, you know that. It wasn’t just you.”

“But it was mostly me." 

“Tony.” 

“I’m serious, Pep. Just tell me the truth. Am I the one who ruined it?”

_Why are you asking? You already know the answer._

“It’s not like that, Tony. I wanted you to change, and you didn’t. That’s all.”

_That sounds like a yes to me._

“Right. You’re right. I shouldn’t have called. Sorry.”

“Tony-”

Tony hung up on her.

Why was he doing this? Why was he torturing himself with things that could’ve been, things he had wanted so badly and lost? He had repeated the same pattern over and over and over, not paying enough attention, not fighting hard enough, not recognizing the good things for what they were until they had slipped through his fingers. Not being willing or able to change when it counted.

This was a vicious cycle. He was digging up new reasons to hate himself, seeking out fresh regrets when the old ones weren’t enough. _This is unhealthy,_ he thought.

_But you can’t stop, can you?_

He was Tony Stark. He could never stop. He would always be going, always be working. And he needed someone who wouldn’t judge him or blame him for it. Someone who would never ask him to be something he wasn’t.

He picked up the phone and dialed again.

“Hey, doll.”

Bucky’s voice was music to his ears.

“When I told you to call me if you were having a bad night… Does that go both ways?”

“Of course.” A pause. “You havin’ a bad night?”

“Yeah.”

“What do you need?”

No judgment, no comments about how late it was, no making Tony feel guilty for calling. Just an offer to give him what he needed. Bucky Barnes was truly amazing.

“ _You_ ,” Tony said finally. He braced himself for rejection.

_He doesn't want you._

Except that wasn't true. Tony knew it wasn't true, because you couldn't kiss someone the way Bucky had kissed him and not mean it.

“My door’s unlocked,” Bucky said softly, leaving the rest hanging unspoken between them. “That okay?”

“More than okay,” Tony replied.

...

Tony didn’t run into anyone as he made his way to Bucky’s room, which wasn’t surprising given the hour. Still, Tony considered himself lucky, because he’d been an idiot and had forgotten to put on shoes. ‘What’re you doing walking around the compound in your socks, Mr. Stark? Oh, just taking the night air!’ He rolled his eyes at himself, glad he hadn’t actually had to give anyone that flimsy excuse.

He stood outside Bucky’s door for a minute, wondering if this was a good idea. _Who cares?_ he thought. _He wants you, which is more than you can say of anyone else. And you want him, too, even though you’re trying to pretend it doesn’t matter._

Well. That was that. Moment of truth.

“Hey,” Bucky said when Tony stepped inside, closing the door behind him.

“Hi,” Tony replied.

Bucky scooted off the bed and padded over to him. This close, Tony was sure Bucky could feel the tension rolling off of him in waves. He swallowed when Bucky reached out, tilting Tony's chin up to search his face. Gently, Bucky carded his metal hand through Tony’s hair, and Tony leaned into the motion, his eyes closing on a slow exhale.

“You wanna talk about it?” Bucky asked.

“No. It’s stupid.” Tony opened his eyes. “Plus, I’m tired of talking.” He gathered the front of Bucky’s shirt in his fist and pulled Bucky toward him, their lips connecting hard and fast. 

It took Bucky just a split second to get onboard, and then he was fully engaged, his hands gripping Tony’s hips and driving him back until he was pinned against the wall. Tony opened eagerly to the press of Bucky’s tongue, and it felt like Bucky had gotten inside him and _possessed_ him. The Soldier plundered his mouth in brutal strokes, making him see stars.

Tony broke for air and tugged at Bucky’s shirt where it was still fisted in his hand. “Off,” he said. Bucky obeyed, raising his arms as Tony lifted, tossing the shirt to the floor.  

And then Tony just stared, distracted, because in the whole time he’d been working on the arm, Bucky had always worn a tank. It had never occurred to Tony to wonder what might be underneath.

“Damn,” Tony breathed, running his hands down the planes of Bucky’s chest. Bucky was fucking _beautiful_ , all sculpted muscle that flexed and quivered under Tony’s palms. He traced Bucky’s collarbone, his touch feather light as it moved over scar tissue and onto metal. He stroked the arm with his fingertips, from shoulder all the way down to wrist. Bucky shuddered.

“Your turn,” Bucky said, making short work of Tony’s hoodie and pulling briefly at his shirt.

“Just rip it,” Tony said, and Bucky paused, giving Tony and unreadable look, before gripping the vee of his collar with both hands and wrenching at the fabric. It tore like it was nothing, falling off of Tony’s shoulders onto the floor.

Before Tony could say anything about how hot that was, before he could even think to be self-conscious about his scars, Bucky was on him again, hands pressing into his chest and holding him down, mouth sealing over his and stealing the breath from his lungs. Tony tried to give as good as he got, fought Bucky's tongue until teeth bit down hard on Tony's lower lip. He gasped and canted his hips up, finally drawing a moan out of Bucky before he pulled away.

They looked at each other, out of breath.

“I don't wanna push,” Bucky said, soothing Tony’s swollen lip with his thumb. “I know you’re havin’ a bad night, and I don’t wanna take advantage. I just... I want… _Fuck_ ,” he growled, stepping just a few inches back to collect himself. “I want you. All of you. But you gotta be on board with that.”

“I am,” Tony insisted. “I am one hundred percent on board with that.”

“You sure?”

Tony could see the struggle in Bucky’s eyes, see how hard he was working to bottle everything up just so he could stop, take a breath, evaluate his partner. Give him the opportunity to say yes or no. It made Tony ache, the idea that as hot and heavy as they’d been, Bucky would’ve stopped if Tony wanted.

 _This is not my first rodeo, hot stuff_ , Tony thought. _Stopping is definitely not what I want._

“Yes,” Tony said. “You’re not taking advantage, I promise. Consider this my full and willing consent.”

Those words did something to Bucky, made his mouth open and his eyes grow dark. He leaned his forehead against Tony’s.

“You gotta tell me if I get carried away.” Tony took a breath, about to cut him off, and Bucky gripped his shoulders to silence him. “Please. Stop me if I get too rough.”

Tony’s mouth went dry. All this time, Bucky had been holding back? The thought sent Tony spinning, his vision blurry with anticipation and arousal.

_I’m going to let the Winter Soldier take me to pieces._

“I can handle rough.” He looked Bucky square in the eye. “I want you to _own_ me.”

Bucky made a noise in the back of his throat, and damn if the wrecked look on his face wasn't the sexiest thing Tony had ever seen.

It was his last coherent thought before Bucky pinned his wrists against the wall, _hard_ , and kissed him for all he was worth. Tony surrendered to sensation - surrendered to Bucky - and the rest of the world fell away, entirely forgotten. 

…

Tony awoke feeling… sore.

This wasn’t a fight club kind of sore, either. It was a ‘thoroughly fucked’ kind of sore. Memories of the night before slotted back into place, very detailed memories, and then Tony was almost impressed that he didn’t feel worse than he did.

_Twice, Stark? Really? The one time wasn’t enough for you?_

Slowly he opened his eyes, the room blissfully dark. He was under the covers, but he was definitely naked. He glanced to his left to see Bucky asleep on his stomach, also very naked, with only the top sheet covering him up to the waist.

How did he feel about this? He wasn’t sure.

No, that wasn’t true. He was sure. He had enjoyed himself, lost himself, and he didn’t regret a second of it. And Tony felt bad about that, bad because he still wasn’t even talking to Steve, and here he was letting Bucky have everything. Bucky, he’d forgiven. Bucky, he’d given unlimited access to his person and his heart. Steve, he had pushed very forcefully away. It wasn’t fair of him. But really, Steve had made this choice before he had. Steve had picked Bucky over him. Tony was simply returning the favor.

Oh great. That scenario made Bucky nothing more than a tool for Tony’s revenge, which he _wasn’t_. Bucky Barnes was beautiful. Incredible. The best sex Tony had ever had, but it was more than that. So much more.

_God, this is the most ridiculous mess._

“You’re thinkin’ too loud,” Bucky said, his voice thick with sleep. 

“Sorry,” Tony whispered. “Occupational hazard.”

Bucky moved over to rest his chin on Tony’s chest, looking him in the eye. “D’you wanna talk about it?”

He couldn’t talk about it. Not with Bucky, not without hurting him. And he didn’t want to talk about it, because it was all kinds of fucked up. Things like that were better kept locked away where no one else could see.

“It's sort of a lot all at once.” He sighed and closed his eyes as the Soldier dropped soft kisses along his collarbone. Tony let his mind wander, thinking back to their conversation in the lab. “Why’d you wait so long to tell me you knew? About the trial, I mean. And the other stuff.”

“Didn’t want you to think I only liked you because of what you did.”

Tony shifted uncomfortably. “Are you sure that’s not actually the reason you like me, though?”

Bucky bit down on Tony’s shoulder hard enough to leave a mark, and Tony opened his eyes.

“Positive,” Bucky said.

Tony tilted his head sideways as Bucky’s mouth moved up along his neck, nipping at his jaw.

“Why _do_ you like me?”

Bucky pulled back to look at him, blue eyes narrowed as he considered his words.

“There’s somethin’ about you, somethin’ I can’t explain.” It was sincere, raw, vulnerable - everything Tony struggled to be but seemed like it came to Bucky as naturally as breathing. “You walk into a room, and my center of gravity shifts.”

Tony’s whole body responded to that statement, breath stolen just as if Bucky had kissed him. He tried to play it off.

“So what, you’re saying you’re caught in my orbit?" 

“Yeah. Can’t help it.”

“That’s poetic. You’re no Shakespeare, though,” Tony teased.

“Have it your way.” Bucky kissed him slow and sweet. “Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purged.”

Tony should’ve done a number of things. He should’ve pointed out that since Romeo and Juliet was the most well known of Shakespeare’s plays, that quote really didn’t count, at which point he would've also argued that recognizing lines from literature was very different than knowing them by heart. He should’ve shoved the pillow in Bucky’s face, because the fact that he somehow made Shakespeare sound sexy was just _too_ ridiculous, and he needed to be taught a lesson immediately. And he should’ve insisted that any more quoting dead poets and Tony would permanently remove himself from the Bucky's bed.

Those were the things he should’ve done - and he didn’t do any of them. All he could do was stare at Bucky, trying not to give himself away, because for some reason he had gotten caught up in the words and what they really meant.

_I would take all your sins, if I could._

He wanted so badly to be able to do it, to take everything bad in Bucky’s world and make it his, instead. He would’ve given Bucky anything he wanted, with no conditions. No exceptions.

Bucky sensed the shift, must’ve known he’d hit too close to home. He took Tony’s face in his hands, his eyes clouded over with something Tony couldn’t make sense of.

“Give me my sin again.” It sounded like a command. Tony arched into him, and before he could say anything, Bucky silenced him with another kiss, pressing him down into the mattress.

…

It had been another hour before Tony had finally left Bucky’s room. The sun had just barely risen, so Tony still wasn't likely to run into anyone in the hall, but he still borrowed a pair of shoes so he didn't look like a total idiot.

_Come on, Stark. This is still a walk of shame no matter how you spin it._

He'd returned to his workshop and jumped back into his work on the prosthetic, trying not to become distracted by thoughts of Bucky that burbled up every time he looked a little too closely at the fingers on his new design. He wasn’t sex-starved, and Bucky wasn’t his whole world.

_Shut up and work, Stark._

He was hungry again, too, and that just made him angry. He was starting to get frustrated, frustrated at his body for being so needy and weak.

_Just like you. If only you didn't need a body at all. If only you were just a mind, with nothing else weighing you down. Wouldn't that be something?_

These thoughts really were becoming too much. Maybe it was time to break out the soldering iron.

His phone pinged next to him, and he was distracted from whatever he'd been about to do next.

It was an email from Steve.

_Tony,_

_I know you're upset. The last time we talked, things didn't go well, and I'm sorry about that. I hope you can let me try again._

_I reserved the 8th floor conference room for the rest of the day. Come by if you want. I'll be here._

_-Steve_

Damn it.

Of course Tony didn't want to go. He had been so carefully avoiding Steve. Why would he deliberately seek him out just because of an email?

He thought back to that morning, when he'd woken up in Bucky’s bed. Regardless of what he'd done, Steve deserved better. _I should go and have a conversation with him._ It wasn’t a promise of friendship or forgiveness. It was just a talk. Tony could do this, if only to put this argument to bed for good.

…

Oddly, Steve wasn’t in the conference room when Tony arrived. _This is ridiculous. I can’t believe I’m doing this and he’s not even here._ The screens were dark, and there were papers strewn over the table. Tony picked up a page, curious. It looked like some kind of transcript. He skimmed the first few lines, and his heart stopped.

It _was_ a transcript - the Security Council transcript.

The summit he’d had months ago, the one where he’d pushed the revised Accords through with bared teeth. It was all there, in black and white. Tony had known the record existed, known that theoretically someone could’ve requested a copy at any time. But he’d also been led to believe that such a request required very specific reasoning, and it could be rejected outright with little or no explanation. He’d been all but promised that none of the Avengers would be granted access to this file. And here Steve Rogers had casually left it sitting out where anyone could’ve found it.

Steve came in while Tony was still trying to catch his breath. He looked up at the Captain, his eyes accusing.

“Where the hell did you get this?" 

“I requested a copy just like anyone else.” 

“That shouldn’t have worked. They should’ve rejected-”

“They did. But then I did what you would've done,” Steve said. “I didn't take no for an answer.”

That stung. Tony let the page he’d been holding fall to the floor. “Fuck you, Rogers.”

“Wasn’t supposed to be an insult.” Steve sat back against the table, arms crossed, his face impassive. “Why are you hiding this, Tony? This is a big deal. This would mean a lot to everyone.” 

This had absolutely been a trap, and Tony had fallen for it like an idiot. He turned away, pacing to the far end of the room, because the more distance he could put between himself and Steve, the better.

“Is this really your plan? ‘Let’s corner Tony, that’ll definitely get him to talk.’ I don’t have to explain myself to you, Rogers, I don’t owe you anything.”

“I’m asking as your friend, Tony.”

“Yeah? I thought we weren’t friends. Silly me. Must’ve misread that whole Siberia situation.”

That got a reaction. The hurt in Steve’s eyes was immediate. _Good_ , he thought. _Serves him right._

“I know you’re upset-”

“Like hell I am!” 

“Then why did you do this? If you were so mad at us, why did you fight for us?”

“Clearly,” Tony said, gesturing at the papers, “you’re the super sleuth, here. You figure it out.”

“Tony.”

“Are we done?” He moved toward the door, and Steve blocked him.

“No! Tony, please. You said you would talk.”

_I said that before I knew you had tricked me._

“Not about this.”

“Why?”

“This is my business, Steve! Mine. Not yours. Not theirs. None of it matters except that it’s done. You’re back. Problem solved, and no corrupt AI trying to kill everyone this time. So drop it, please.”

Steve was about to change tack, Tony could tell by the shift in his posture, the seriousness in his face.

“I read the revisions, you know,” Steve said, his voice pitched low. “They’re… incredible. It’s incredible, what you did.”

Tony narrowed his eyes. “Don’t compliment me. Don’t tell me that I did a good job.”

“Why not?”

“That ruins it! If it makes me feel good then it’s still selfish. For once in my life I wanted to do something for someone else without any kind of ulterior motive. With nothing in it for me.”

“Is that why you helped Bucky?”

Tony blanched. “You - you don’t - you know about - of course. Of course you do, why am I even surprised?” Tony laughed bitterly. “ _How?_ How do you know?”

“I called the lawyer who took the case. The one who supervised you.”

“Fuck.” That part, unfortunately, Tony hadn’t been able to keep entirely under wraps. His participation was a secret, yes, but he’d needed a lawyer to supervise, and the press had needed a name to print. “Steve, that is such an invasion of privacy, what the _hell_.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“I don’t remember you saying this was an interrogation,” Tony snarled back.

“I’m not trying to interrogate you, I just want to understand.”

“And I want to stop feeling terrible about myself all the time. Too bad, we don’t always get what we want.”

Damn it all, Steve wasn’t going to give up, no matter how angry Tony got. He had that determined look in his eyes, the same one he’d had when he’d refused to sign the Accords. When he’d refused to stop defending Bucky.

“Why did you do it?” Steve pressed again, taking a step toward him. “Tony, please. I need to know.”

“Because you never would’ve come back without him!” There was so much energy coursing through him that in that moment, Tony could’ve sworn he’d never had the arc reactor removed. “You would’ve stayed with him, because he’s your weakness, your pain point, the one thing you’d do anything not to lose. So I figured out a way around that mess Hydra put in his head, which wasn’t easy, by the way. That took a lot of research and a lot of watching really difficult shit. I fought for him. I fought so hard, Steve, I’ve never fought so hard for anything in my life, all for the person who _murdered my parents_. And I won. I brought everybody back. I fixed the Accords so they would fit in with your precious moral code. Did you notice that, in all your careful reading? They’re tailored to _you_ , so that you don’t feel trapped by the government or whatever stupid crap made it impossible for you to sign in the first place. I did everything you wanted, and I can’t believe I’m even surprised that I still don’t feel good enough for you.”

Tony stopped, out of breath, electricity crackling in his fingertips as surely as if he’d been wearing the suit with the repulsors powered up. He stared at Steve, waiting for a comeback that never came. He saw Steve's heart break for him, saw regret pass across his face.

“Tony… It was never about being good enough.”

Tony wanted to scream, to throw something, to hit Steve as hard as he could, because that was just so untrue. Tony had never been good enough, and he never would be.

“How can you say that when you picked him?”

“Bucky’s always been my best friend. I wanted you to be _more_.”

Steve surged forward and kissed him, and for just a moment there were fireworks behind Tony’s eyes. The desperate press of lips was everything he needed but didn't deserve, and he was cracking apart, shattering in Steve’s hands. _No._ This wouldn't fix anything. Steve couldn’t fix it, because Tony was broken now, too broken, and Steve would never want him, not like this. _I can’t,_ he thought. _I can’t I can’t I can’t._ He pushed Steve away.

“I put everything into this for you,” Tony said, struggling to speak around the strangled feeling in his chest. “I can’t be more, Steve. There isn’t enough of me left.”

Tony left Steve standing there, stunned, as he all but ran out of the room.

...

Tony shouldn't have gone to fight club that night. 

He should've known it was a bad idea. A really bad idea. The last time he'd fought in this kind of headspace had been Siberia, and that had turned out just great, hadn't it?

After Tony had left the conference room, he’d gone to his workshop and seriously considered setting everything on fire. He’d thrown tools across the room. He’d knocked over his chair and several tables. He’d dumped an entire case of screws on the floor just to listen to the sound of chaos. Then he’d done something really stupid. He’d taken out the burner phone, put on a gauntlet, and blasted it with the repulsor.

It was gone. Eviscerated. The final page of a chapter he hadn’t been able to finish, reduced to a pile of ash.

None of it was enough. Pain. Not eating. Not sleeping. Not caring. None of it would ever be enough, because in the end, Tony Stark was empty. And so he found himself at fight club that night with nothing in the world to lose.

Every fight was like its own small murder. Tony was a machine, hitting and grabbing and kicking and biting. Nothing was off limits. The man from his first fight walked away with a torn ear and a scratch down his neck that left skin under Tony’s nails. It wasn’t just aggressive any more. It was brutal. Violent. He barely recognized himself, but he couldn’t stop fighting.

Three fights in, he started letting people hit him. He’d stand there and not move, and when his opponent punched him, he’d hit himself, too, laughing at the pain. Laughing like he was crazy.

Five fights in, Tony had lost sight of reality. Liam had stepped in, because nobody else wanted to fight him when he was in this state, and that was fine, because Tony knew Liam’s style, knew his tells. Liam matched him blow for blow. And then, because Tony was playing dirty, Liam started to play dirty, pulling his hair, jabbing at his eyes. He tried to pin Liam to the floor, and somehow Liam reversed it, flipped Tony onto his back. Liam was on his feet before Tony could blink, and when Liam’s foot came down, he didn’t have time to block the hit.

Tony heard more than felt the sickening crack as Liam's foot connected with his abdomen, but the pain only lagged a few seconds behind. It felt like a bomb had been set off inside his chest and he was exploding over and over and over again.

_Fuck._

He rolled over, his vision mottled with black spots as he crawled to his hands and knees. He thought he might be sick, or maybe pass out, and when he coughed it seared through his side, making him double over.

“Mother _fucker_. Tap out, Stark!”

_Are you a quitter? No? Then get the fuck up._

“No way,” Tony grunted, a hand pressed to his ribs as he got to his feet. Broken? Probably, but he didn’t care. He didn’t care about anything any more.

He blocked the first two punches after that, but another well placed hit to the ribs brought him down to his knees. Liam grabbed him by the hair again and pulled, and when Tony clutched his arms to try and hoist himself up, a second kick sent him sprawling to the ground.

The pain blinded him, and he couldn’t move, couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. He fought hard to stay awake, but in seconds the darkness overtook him, dragging him down into the black.

…

The world filtered back in slowly, in dribs and drabs, not making any sense at first. Tony had been fighting, that much he remembered, but he couldn’t see or hear or feel enough to know where he was or how much time had passed. _What the hell happened?_

After several minutes lying on the cold floor, things started to coalesce, the shattered pieces of light and sound and sense fitting back together. He could hear the grunts of a fight and see the lanterns up above him, looking strange through his bleary eyes.

“Hey Liam, he’s awake,” came a voice from somewhere in the distance - or was it close, and Tony’s mind was far away?

Liam’s face swam into view above him. “You’re done."

“No,” Tony groaned, and pain shot up his right side. _Right. Ribs cracked, probably. Passed out. Stupid._

“Stark. You’re done.”

Tony struggled upright, wincing, biting his tongue to distract himself from the burning feeling in his chest.

“Yeah. Done,” Tony conceded, closing his eyes.

“D’you want an ambulance?”

“No. Got the suit."

Liam stood and offered him a hand. He took it and hauled himself up.

_You wanted pain, and you got it. Is your mind clear now, Stark? Was it worth it?_

Bitterly, he thought of the moments after Steve and Bucky had abandoned him in Siberia. This felt just like that. He’d let emotion drive the fight and had gotten himself taken out. And now he was alone again, the aftermath blazing through him like fire. Somehow, he still felt cold.

Tony stumbled toward the door, and when he’d made it up the stairs (which he didn’t honestly remember doing), he was thankful that the suit would do the rest of the work, because he no longer had the energy to move.

“FRIDAY, remember that autopilot we talked about?” he asked once the mark 100 had assembled around him.

“Yes, Boss.”

“Let’s use it, yeah? Take me home.”

 

 

 

 


	3. Recovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony gets a wake-up call. The Avengers just might end up being friends again. Bucky suggests something ridiculous.

 

Tony didn’t know where he was.

There was pain in his chest, pain that he didn’t have an explanation for, and some kind of cord sticking out of him. _Battery cable,_ his mind whispered. He couldn’t move. Was he strapped down, or just still drugged and hazy? It was dark, too dark to see much of anything, but his mind supplied the images. Sand. Chair. Shrapnel in his chest. Water, filling his lungs, choking him.

_Afghanistan._

His heart pounded hard and fast, and at least that meant his heart was still working. But for how long? _What the hell happened? How did I get here?_ The water filled his ears, muffling the voices in the distance.

“You know how those drugs affect his brain chemistry-”

“He didn’t give me a choice!”

“You should’ve just waited until I got there.”

“And what was I supposed to do while I waited, let him go crazy and hurt himself?”

“All you had to do was buy me some time.”

The words were like a kick, and Tony jolted awake - except when he opened his eyes, he was still inside the dream.

 

_Tony waits with bated breath. Come on, come on, come on-_

_Yes! The lights flicker on, and suddenly the suit has power, and Tony is unstoppable. Rounds bounce off him like they’re nothing, and he throws three grown men to the ground, stunned by the strength of his own machine. They’re running from him, scared, as he marches down the corridor. He kicks the metal door once, twice-_

_On the third kick it breaks, falling forward and clattering to the ground. Tony pushes ahead, swings his arm out and gets caught. He yanks the arm and stays stuck - one of the men shoots him point blank, and the bullet ricochets back at him. Tony yanks again and pulls free._

_He’s just feet from the cave mouth now. He can see the light from outside. He calls Yinsen’s name, turns and watches Raza aim his weapon and fire. The shot misses. Tony fires off one of his own, and it hits the wall and explodes. Part of the ceiling cracks and breaks off, crashing to the ground and bringing Raza down with it. Tony sees Yinsen, tries to get him up and going, because this is it. This is everything they’ve been working for. This is their escape-_

_Yinsen isn’t moving._

_"Move for me, come on. We got a plan. We're gonna stick to it.”_

_"This was always the plan, Stark.”_

_Son of a bitch. Tony doesn’t accept that as an answer, he won’t, because he and Yinsen are in this together._  
  
_"Come on, you're gonna go see your family, get up.”_  
   
_“My family is dead. I'm going to see them now, Stark.” Tony looks at him, frozen. He’s not prepared for this. He’s never watched someone die. This man is his friend, the only reason Tony’s still alive, and he doesn’t know what to do. “It's okay. I want this. I want this.”_

_Tony exhales, tries to smile. "_ _Thank you for saving me.”_

_“Don’t waste it. Don’t waste your life.”_

_Yinsen’s eyes close. His chest rises and falls, his last breath gone. Tony wants to do something, but he can't. He's trapped in the suit, so all he can do is fight. Fight for Yinsen. Fight for himself._

_He turns toward the mouth of the cave and snaps the faceplate on._

 

Tony gasped as the room filtered back in around him, all senseless streaks of color as he blinked to clear his eyes.

He was crying. Sobbing. The pain in his ribs was a dull roar somewhere far away, and so his diaphragm moved unimpeded, pushing air in and out of his lungs in small, tight bursts.

“Damn it,” Tony said, the words almost soundless on a sharp exhale. “Not again.”

He didn’t even know what he meant by that. Not another flashback? No. Not Yinsen, not again. He knew, in some distant part of his consciousness, that it wasn’t real. That it had been years ago. Somehow, it still felt like it had just happened.

_I just saw him. I just saw him, he was right in front of me, and now he’s gone._ He felt the loss all over again, his mental picture of that moment still vivid and sharp.

He hadn’t thought about Yinsen in… years. It had been _years_. And that was an insult to his friend’s memory. What right did he have to put that part of his past aside, when it had cost Yinsen his life? The guilt clawed at him, tore him open. _He saved me and I forgot about him._

Tony felt a hand on his arm, and he jumped, still not centered in reality.

“Don’t touch him! Just give him a second.” That sounded familiar. That was Rhodey.

“Tony? You with us?”

Tony shook his head and shut his eyes as tightly as he could. “Rhodey, keep talking.”

“It’s me. It’s me, Tones, I’m here. Whatever you saw, it already happened. You’re here, you’re with me now. Everything’s okay.”

_It's in the past. You're safe._ It took several minutes for Tony to believe the words, and even longer for his body to respond to his instructions. _Calm down. Only a flashback. Not real._

It felt real. It had been real, then. Just because he’d lived beyond it, didn’t make it any less terrifying. Breathe in. Breathe out. He counted the breaths until they were steady.

“Okay,” he said, pressing his palms to his forehead and then wiping tears from his cheeks. “Okay, I’m good.”

_You keep telling yourself that._

His body shook, and he couldn’t tell if that was residual adrenaline or if he was shivering from being submerged. Somehow, even though the desert had been hot, he remembered that water feeling like ice. _I didn’t go into the water,_ he reminded himself. _Not this time. That was just a memory._

“What'd you see?” Rhodey asked softly.

“Afghanistan,” Tony replied, his voice broken. “They… they tortured me. And Yinsen died. I forgot, can you believe that? I actually forgot.”

“Tony.” There was so much understanding packed into that small word, and Tony glanced up to meet his friend’s eyes.

“Where am I? What happened?”

“You’re in medical,” Rhodey said.

Of course. That explained the bed, and the hospital gown. He glanced down at his arm. What his mind had interpreted as a battery cable was really an IV. _Better that than another electromagnet_ , he thought.

“How did I get here?”

“You… collapsed,” Bruce said, and that was the first time Tony had even noticed Bruce was there. “FRIDAY called me. When I found you, you were sort of manic. You wouldn’t let me touch you. Wouldn’t let me help.”

“So he _sedated_ you,” Rhodey growled.

“I did what I thought I had to. You were going to hurt yourself. Or get into a fight with the Other Guy, in which case you might have actually died.”

“You knew it would trigger him-”

“Yes, I did. Would you rather he be dead?”

“Whoa, okay, hold on.” Tony held up a hand to silence them both. This was all too much at once. He had to break it down into bite sized pieces. Individual questions, that would work. “Question one. You just casually carry sedative around with you?”

“This is a facility full of self-proclaimed superheroes and ex-assassins,” Bruce said. “Seemed like the safe thing to do.”

That was actually a fair point. Tony trusted Bruce’s judgment. If he had felt compelled to use it, then Tony wasn’t going to criticize. Better a flashback than a fight with the Hulk.

“Question two. What do you mean, I was manic? Why do I have no memory of this?”

Rhodey and Bruce looked at each other.

“It’s possible the sedative might’ve impacted your short term memory,” Bruce explained. Rhodey’s expression was mutinous, but he said nothing. “It’s also possible you blocked it out, like a trauma.”

That sounded bad. Tony tried to think back, but he couldn’t recreate it in his mind. The time between putting on the suit and waking up in medical was an enormous blank. That had never happened to him before. It scared him, not being able to remember.

“Do I even want to see the security footage?”

“I wouldn’t,” Bruce said.

Tony swallowed. “Question three: Why am I hooked up to an IV?”

“I started you on morphine. For whatever the hell it is you did to yourself.”

What he'd done to himself - right. Steve. His workshop. Fight club. He’d hurt himself, _really_ hurt himself. His ribs were at least bruised, if not cracked, he vaguely recalled the suit’s telemetry telling him so before the autopilot switched on. So why could he barely feel it? Was that the sedative still wearing off, or was the morphine already numbing his system?

He didn’t want that. He needed the pain, needed to feel what he’d done. Otherwise what was the point?

“Take me off of this,” Tony demanded. “I don’t want drugs. Take it out.”

“Tony-”

Tony didn't wait for permission. He pulled the tubing out, then removed the cannula despite Bruce’s protests, the pinch of the needle barely anything.

“For future reference, I don’t like waking up with things sticking out of me,” Tony said, throwing the cannula on the ground. Bruce flinched. Maybe that had been mean. But Tony had reached the end of his rope. He was hurt, and he was tired, and he just wanted to stop.

_You’re Tony Stark, remember? You can never stop._

“Sorry,” Tony said, dropping his head into his hands. “You’re just trying to help, and I’m being an asshole.”

_That’s nothing new._

Damn it. He was getting so sick of this voice in his head. He’d thought fight club would fix it - thought the pain would satisfy whatever stupid part of him was thinking those things. It had, for a while. And then it hadn’t any more.

“It’s okay,” Bruce said, and Tony refused to look up, because he didn’t deserve the sympathy in his friend’s voice.

_Don’t pity me._ _I’m responsible for this, I did it to myself. I’m an idiot, and you shouldn’t feel sorry for me._

“Tones, what’s going on with you? What happened?” Tony didn’t respond. “You scared the shit out of me. Out of both of us.”

_There you go again, creating problems for other people. Why don’t you just put them out of their misery?_

“This has not been a great day for me,” Tony said finally. “I’m sorry I dragged you guys into it.”

“Don’t be sorry! Jesus, Tony, we just want you to be okay,” Rhodey said.

Tony wasn’t even sure if he wanted himself to be okay. _This is so fucked up,_ he thought. _I have got to get a lid on this._ He tried to think of something to say, something that would reassure them both that he didn’t need their help.

_You’ve got nothing._

“Show me the footage,” Tony said, because talking at least could get his mind to quit for a few seconds. “Show me the footage, I want to see what happened.”

“Tony, I really don’t think you do.”

“Show me,” Tony insisted with steel in his voice. Bruce let out a sigh and picked the tablet up off the counter. He pulled the video up.

“Don't say I didn't warn you."

Bruce pressed play, and a corner view of the workshop appeared. Tony had really done a number on that place. The tables weren’t just flipped; most of them were broken. Loose parts littered the floor, and he’d obviously used the gauntlet on more than just the burner phone, because there were circles of black ash on almost every surface. Why did he not remember doing that, either?

Tony watched himself land the suit. As it disassembled, he fell to his knees, then collapsed. He had no memory of that, but it looked beyond painful. He rolled onto his back, clutching his side and closing his eyes.

“Boss?” FRIDAY tried.

Forty seconds of him flat on his back, not moving. He saw himself regain consciousness, his eyes flying open.

“Fuck.” He struggled upright, clinging to one of the flipped tables, then made it a few more steps before the door opened.

“Tony.”

Bruce entered, taking in the scene in front of him, somehow managing to keep his cool.

“I'm fine, Bruce! Completely fine, I just passed out, but I'm okay now, really. I can-”

A loud thunk as Tony collapsed to the floor.

“Shit. Oops. Why are there so many screws down here? Right, I did that.”

“You did all this?”

“I was angry. And now I'm not.” Tony heard himself laugh. The sound was sickening. “Now I'm just empty. There's nothing in here!” He pounded on his chest, hitting the spot where the reactor had once lived over and over and over again.

“Tony, you're going to hurt yourself.”

“Already did that. See?” Tony smiled, pulling up his shirt to reveal his injury. His skin was swollen, spotted with green, purple, and black.

“Shit.” He heard Bruce suck in a breath. “Tony, you need to let me take you to medical.”

“No. No no no, no way, I'm fine.”

Tony maneuvered away, stumbling as he circled the table to avoid Bruce.

“You're really not.”

“Don't tell me what I am. Don't touch me, get off me!”

Bruce tried to grab onto Tony, and Tony punched him in the chin. Bruce cried out in pain. Tony gasped and crawled backward, shaking his head.

“Tony, you have to listen to me-”

“No! I don't want your help. I'm beyond help.”

Bruce came at him again, and this time Tony kicked, hard. Bruce dodged, and Tony’s feet dropped to the floor, unable to connect. Then Bruce was on top of him, holding him down, and Tony was crying and laughing at the same time, _biting_ at Bruce’s arm.

“I'm sorry about this, Tony, I really am.”

Bruce plunged the needle into Tony’s thigh. Tony struggled for a few more seconds, then went limp. The video cut out.

“You weren’t going to stop,” Bruce said. “Putting you out was the only thing I could think to do.”

“Right. I understand,” Tony said, still in shock. He stared at the wall, unseeing, trying to make sense of it. Maybe, for those five minutes, he had actually gone crazy. Maybe it had been too much adrenaline, or delirium? Whatever the explanation, it was no excuse. That behavior would qualify him as insane to anyone with eyes. The fact that Bruce hadn’t immediately put him in a straitjacket was a miracle.

“I’m sorry I punched you,” Tony said.

“It’s okay,” Bruce replied. “I’m just worried about you, Tony. What happened in there, that’s not normal.”

“I know.”

“Any chance you want to try and explain how you got to that point?”

“I would _really_ rather not,” Tony said. Explaining would just get him into trouble. He couldn’t tell either of them, not without revealing just how bad things were. He wasn’t ready. He could still contain this. He was fine.

“Tony, if you won’t tell us-”

“Boss, I have Sergeant Barnes outside,” FRIDAY interrupted.

“ _What?_ ” There was a reason he hadn’t called Bucky in the first place, before he’d trashed his workshop, before he’d left the compound. He didn’t want Bucky to see him like this. “Why is he here? FRIDAY, did you call him?”

“I didn’t. He asked where you were. Given the nature of your relationship, it did not seem appropriate to lie.”

“The nature of your relationship?” Rhodey asked.

“Yeah, he and I have a thing, it’s sort of private,” Tony said, brushing him off. “FRIDAY, was that really necessary to share?”

“If you don’t want her butting into your personal life, maybe you should look into changing her settings,” Bruce said. Tony glared at him. “Look. If you won’t talk to us, Tony, maybe you’ll feel comfortable talking to him.”

“I don’t want to talk at all."

“Too bad,” Bruce said. “FRIDAY, let him in.”

Tony wasn’t even surprised when his AI obeyed Bruce’s order without waiting for his okay. The door slid open, and Tony swallowed and looked up, afraid of what he’d find in Bucky's face.

“Hey,” Bucky said softly.

“Hi.”

Bucky crossed the room as if they were opposite poles of a magnet, drawn straight to Tony without so much as a glance toward Rhodey and Bruce.

“Why’s he in a hospital gown?” Bucky asked over his shoulder.

“He’s injured," came Bruce's reply. 

“He can’t be injured in clothes?” Bucky was already unzipping his hoodie and handing it over.

“Thank you,” Tony said. He pulled it on and zipped it halfway, trying not to revel in the way Bucky's scent clung to it, the way it comforted him just because it was Bucky’s.

“You okay, doll?” Bucky's metal hand moved to cup his cheek, thumb tracing his eyebrow and then his jaw. The touch was familiar, intimate, and Tony couldn't bring himself to be embarrassed even with Rhodey and Bruce watching.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay.”

He wasn’t, not really, but for a split second his worries had disappeared, replaced with ease and warmth and _Bucky_. Blue eyes locked onto Tony’s, and the world dissolved around him until Bucky was the only thing left. He closed his eyes when Bucky kissed him, soft and measured, then tried to follow Bucky's lips as he pulled away.

“You look tired, doll.”

“It’s been a long night.”

Bucky planted a kiss on his forehead, stubble brushing Tony’s skin. “What do you need?”

“He needs sleep,” Bruce interjected. “And probably ice, too, since he wouldn’t take the morphine.”

“Doesn’t hurt."

“It will,” Bruce promised.

“Bruce. Maybe we should give them some privacy." Tony appreciated how quickly Rhodey had jumped from ‘nature of your relationship’ to ‘let’s leave them alone.’ Tony would have to thank him for that later.

Bruce sighed and nodded in agreement.

“Yeah. You’re right.” Rhodey headed for the door. “Barnes, there’s ice packs in the fridge, when he needs them. And you,” Bruce added, pointing at Tony and giving him a stern look. “Talk to him. Please.”

Bruce followed Rhodey out of the room, leaving Tony and Bucky alone. Bucky settled himself into a chair, pulling it up to the edge of the bed and taking Tony’s hand.

“You don’t wanna talk,” Bucky guessed quietly.

“No.”

“Okay.” Bucky laid his head down, still looking at Tony but not saying anything further.

_That’s it? It’s that easy?_

But Tony should’ve known. With Bucky, it was always that easy. It was always a question of consent. ‘Is this what you want?’ Bucky Barnes was probably the one person in the world who would never make Tony do anything he didn’t want to do.

It only made Tony want to tell him more. But he couldn’t do it - he couldn’t risk losing Bucky over this.

_You know he won’t want you any more, once he finds out. You’re broken. You’re nothing._

...

Tony woke slowly to the sound of whispers. Bucky was no longer in the chair beside him. He strained his ears, and heard Bucky’s low voice across the room.

“Has he seen this?”

“Yes. He watched it just before you came in. He can’t remember any of it,” Bruce said. Bucky hummed in affirmation, and Tony saw him run a hand through his hair.

Tony closed his eyes. He wasn’t about to let them know he was awake. Other people’s conversations about you were always much more interesting when they didn’t know you were listening.

“Why was he actin’ like that?”

“Honestly? He was probably delirious. Seems like he had just gotten beat up, and knowing Tony, he probably hasn’t slept in days.”

“He slept with me,” Bucky said, and Tony could _hear_ the look Bruce was giving him. “I mean actually slept. Shut up.”

Tony wished he could sit up to see Bucky’s expression without giving himself away. Bucky was difficult to embarrass, so when it actually happened, it was entertaining to watch.

“When?”

“Last night. Only a few hours, but that's somethin’.”

“You keep him up the rest of the night?”

Tony's amusement turned to irritation. _Don't tease him about it. I needed him and he was there._

“I'm not answerin’ that.” They were silent for a moment before Bucky asked, “So how hurt is he?”

“Two of his ribs are cracked, and another is bruised.” Bruce sounded exasperated. “They're minor fractures, should heal in three to six weeks. In the meantime, he should keep strenuous activity to a minimum. And he needs all the sleep he can get, so if you can get him to do that, more power to you.”

“I’ll do my best,” Bucky said. Tony heard Bruce’s footsteps grow faint, heard the door open and close. A few minutes later, Bucky returned to the chair beside the bed. Bucky rested his elbows on the mattress and took Tony's hand.

“You're not asleep."

How had Bucky known that? Tony thought he’d been doing a fairly good job pretending. He cracked an eye open.

“No.”

“What’re you thinkin’ about?”

“Nothing." 

“That’s hard to believe.”

It was, wasn’t it? Tony was always thinking about something.

“Afghanistan,” Tony said. “My flashback, earlier.” He assumed Bruce had told him, and it seemed like his assumption was right, because Bucky nodded in understanding.

He still couldn’t believe it had taken his idiosyncratic reaction to a sedative to push those memories to the forefront of his mind. How had he let them slip so far out of his grasp? For so long, Yinsen’s death had been his defining moment.

_Don’t waste your life._

He had. He had wasted it, had _been_ wasting it, utterly and completely. What a disgrace. Tony had been so reckless and stupid, thrown himself away like his life hadn’t meant anything. He’d let that voice in his head manipulate him, a puppet master pulling his strings. He had forgotten Yinsen’s gift and squandered it. He needed to fix this. It was time to make this right, to start living the way his friend would’ve wanted him to. _This life is all I’ve got. And I’ve got it because of him._  Tony's self-worth might be shot, but Yinsen had thought he was worth something. Worth everything. He needed to stop punishing himself and start repairing what he’d broken.

_You don't have the guts, Stark._

He did. He absolutely did. He had created the Iron Man while being held hostage in a cave in the desert. He could handle a few demons. And if this made his friends hate him… well, that wouldn’t be anything new, would it?

Tony sat up. “Hey Buck?”

“What's wrong?”

“I need to tell you something.”

Bucky lifted himself off the bed, looking at Tony with encouraging eyes.

“It's sort of a lot,” Tony said. Shit. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. Maybe he shouldn’t-

“I got time."

_It’s okay. It’s going to be okay._ Tony steeled himself, taking a deep breath.

“Okay. Phew. Here goes.”

And then Tony launched into a description of everything that had happened since Siberia. He told Bucky about the brainwashing cure, about how he’d watched the Soldier struggle, had to purposefully trigger him in order to break down the conditioning. How Tony still regretted that, still sometimes heard those screams in his nightmares. He told him about the trial, about the summit, about how somewhere in the middle of those two things, he’d stopped eating and stopped sleeping, because the world kept spinning and if he’d taken the time to take care of himself, Tony never would’ve been able to catch up.

He told Bucky about fight club. Yes, it was breaking the rules, but was he ever going to go back, anyway? It didn’t matter any more. He talked about the pain, about the way it calmed his thoughts. He told Bucky about the voice in his head. About how it sounded just like Ultron, and how he’d never admitted that to himself until just now. And then he told him about his dizzy spells, about clinging so hard to control that he wasn’t able to control it any more.

He told Bucky about Steve. About his feelings and how complicated they had been - how complicated they still were. Tony told him about their meeting in the conference room, about the kiss, about ‘I wanted you to be more.’ Anger flashed in Bucky’s face when Tony described how that had sent him spinning, destroying things, going to fight club to destroy himself.

The last words left Tony’s lips, and he sat in front of Bucky, laid completely bare. Waiting for criticism. Waiting for anger. Waiting for something, anything.

Bucky didn’t react for a long time. Long enough that Tony was nervous he might just walk out and never come back.

“Say something,” Tony pleaded.

Bucky studied him, eyes sweeping over Tony’s face. “You’re hurtin’,” Bucky said, and somehow he had captured Tony’s entire story, every point of pain, in those two words. “How do I help?”

_Damn it. Why do you have to be so perfect?_

Tony had poured out his soul, cast every demon into the light for him to see. And Bucky had responded the same way he always had. Without judgment.

How was he not upset that Tony had kept all of this secret for so long? Why was he not furious about Tony’s feelings for Steve? Why was he not shouting at Tony for being an idiot, scolding him for not realizing how much everybody cared? Bucky had deserved so much more from him, so much better than this stupidity and weakness. _So why isn’t he angry with me?_

“You want to help?” Tony said, his mouth finally catching up with his thoughts.

“Yeah.”

“You’re… not mad?”

“’Course not,” Bucky replied, as if it was the easiest thing in the world.

Tony looked at Bucky, really looked at him, somehow feeling like he was seeing him for the first time. This man was everything. Suddenly, the gears clicked into place.

“I love you,” Tony said, discovering it in the same instant that he said it aloud.

_Holy shit._

Bucky stared, his eyes wide and disbelieving. He looked like he’d never expected to hear those words from Tony, or maybe from anyone.

“Sorry,” Tony said. “Sorry. Shit. It's really early for me to be saying that, right? And I just laid a lot on you all at once, I know this isn’t the right moment, I just-”

“I love you too,” Bucky said, stopping Tony in his tracks. His voice sounded rough and broken, like boots crunching on gravel. Blue eyes were dark and raw with emotion. Tony held Bucky's gaze. “Should’a said it sooner. Just didn’t expect-”

“Neither did I,” Tony said.

They stared at each other, unmoving, neither wanting to shatter this one fragile moment. _I see you, and you see me,_ Tony thought. The feeling was incredible.

The tension stretched until it was pulled taut, then snapped.

Bucky stood and closed the distance between them, drawing Tony into a fierce kiss that obliterated all his doubts. _I love you_ , it said. Tony heard the words in Bucky’s tongue pushing past his lips, felt them in the powerful hands that fisted into his hair. He clung to Bucky as much as his body would allow, gripping Bucky’s arms and pulling himself to the edge of the bed.

The ache in Tony's ribs was nothing compared to the heat spreading outward from his center, urging him to kiss harder, press closer. He couldn’t quite suppress a broken moan when Bucky pulled away to bite at his jaw. Tony tilted his head back, and Bucky dragged his teeth down Tony’s throat, the dangerous pressure on sensitive skin making his whole body shake. Tony couldn’t help it - he whined, a high-pitched, desperate noise that drove Bucky’s mouth to descend on his with renewed force. He clutched the hair at the nape of Bucky’s neck, trying to anchor himself. 

Tony hooked his legs around Bucky’s waist, faintly aware that his bottom half was still covered only by a hospital gown. He didn't care. He drew Bucky’s hips toward him and whimpered, begging for more, because this wasn't enough. He needed contact, needed skin on skin, needed the Soldier to take him apart like Tony _knew_ he could.

Bucky broke away abruptly. “Tony. Stop.”

_Shit_. Bucky’s pupils were blown wide, his breathing ragged. His hands had moved from Tony’s hair and were braced on the mattress, gripping the sheets tightly. His muscles trembled with the effort of keeping still.

“Sorry,” Tony murmured, leaning his forehead against Bucky’s. “I didn’t… _fuck_.” Tony had forgotten where they were, forgotten his body’s current limitations. He hadn’t meant to push Bucky too far. “Guess you’re not the only one who gets carried away, huh?”

“S’not your fault,” Bucky said. “Just don’t want my control to slip.”

Tony knew some days were better for Bucky than others. He might not have a mess in his head any more, but Hydra had still made him a fair approximation of a Super Soldier, and there was a limit to the amount of stimulus he could comfortably handle. Too much sensory input, and things got… primal. At least, that’s how Bucky had put it.

“Right. Later,” Tony promised with a nod, slowly letting his legs drop. Bucky took a careful step back. “Sorry, again. That escalated quicker than it was supposed to.”

“Don’t be sorry. I started it.”

“Right. Yes, you’re the one who should apologize. How dare you kiss me like that. I’m scandalized.” That earned a chuckle from Bucky, and Tony’s body did not appreciate his huff of laughter in response. “Ow. Right. Ice.” He cursed Bruce inwardly for always being right about everything.

“I got it,” Bucky said, retrieving an ice pack from the fridge as Tony pulled the blanket back over himself. “Unzip,” Bucky instructed, and Tony did as he was told, sighing in relief when the ice was situated underneath the hoodie. Then Bucky put a palm on Tony’s chest, and Tony took the hint, allowing the gentle pressure to ease him down onto the pillows. Bucky did that sometimes, communicated by doing instead of speaking.

“So,” Tony said, leaning his head back, “About… everything I just told you. What do you think I should do?”

“That’s up to you, doll." 

“Tell Bruce? Maybe?” Tony asked.

“That’d be a start.”

“Right, okay. That’s what I’ll do, then.”

Bucky wasn’t mad. Bucky didn’t hate him. Hell, Bucky _loved_ him. And wasn't that something? 

_I can do this,_  Tony thought. _I can fix this. I’m not so broken that I can’t undo what I did._

_You sure about that?_

No. He wasn't sure. Not even a little bit.

...

Telling Bruce was a lot harder than telling Bucky.

When Tony had told Bucky, everything had just spilled out. With Bruce, things came out in halting pieces. Tony was barely able to put a sentence together. Why was this so difficult? Was it because Tony wasn’t sure how Bruce would react? Or was it just because he didn’t want to let go of something that had been a part of him for so long?

_Cobb could never let go of Mal. What makes you think you can let go of this? Of me?_

“I’m not sure I’m understanding you,” Bruce said.

“I know. I know, I’m sorry. I’m not…” Tony sighed in frustration. “I’m just gonna spit things out, and they might be out of context.”

“Okay,” Bruce replied. He had on his doctor face, the one that was supposed to look impassive and scholarly. This time around, Tony didn’t find it all that comforting.

“I think,” Tony began, glancing briefly at Bucky, “that I’m - anorexic.” He made a face, as if saying the word made him sick, which it sort of did. “I’m not eating. Obsessively. To punish myself.” When Bruce didn’t say anything, Tony kept going. “I have… insomnia? Extreme fear of sleeping? My nightmares scare the shit out of me so I usually just stay awake.”

“Tony,” Bruce began, but Tony cut him off.

“I’m not done." Tony grimaced when he saw the frown on Bruce’s face. “I…” He trailed off, stuck. This one was hard. _If I tell him this, it’s gone. I can never have it back._ Would Tony be able to live with that?

_Yes. Don’t waste your life, remember?_

“I’ve also been doing another really stupid thing, and the first rule is you’re not supposed to talk about it.” He said it in a single breath, closing his eyes as if that would help him hide from Bruce’s reaction.

“Is the second rule about it,” Bruce said slowly, “also that you’re not supposed to talk about it?”

Tony opened his eyes and nodded. Bruce looked livid, and he spoke with deadly calm.

“Fight club. Tony, are you serious? That’s where you’ve been getting these bruises, these injuries? You’ve been going to a _fight club_?”

“In my defense-”

“No. No, there is no defense here. You have a problem you work it out on the bag or with a partner, you don’t go out and let random people beat the shit out of you.”

“Hey, it wasn’t always them winning,” Tony argued.

“Great, yeah, that makes it fine,” Bruce said, the words laced with sarcasm. “And you’re not eating? Tony, what are you thinking?”

“That’s just it, I’m not thinking, I can’t think! There’s so much noise up here and all of it is telling me I’m not _worth_ anything, so I was dealing with that in the best way I knew how.”

“There are healthier ways to deal with those things, Tony.”

“I know that.”

“This is dangerous.”

“Bruce,” Bucky interrupted. “That ain’t what he needs.”

Tony shot him a grateful look.

Bruce turned away to collect himself. “What are your symptoms?”

“Dizziness. That’s been getting worse.”

“Anything else?”

“I don’t know.”

“What’s the last thing you ate?”

“Saltines. A couple days ago. And then whenever I get hungry I just have a cup of coffee.” When he said it out loud, it sounded terrible.

_It is terrible. You’re terrible._

“So you’re probably dehydrated,” Bruce said, finally turning back to look at him. “And you probably got those fractures from brittle bones, meaning nutrient deficiency. We should give you some fluids. You should see a therapist, and a nutritionist. I can bring some people in. And you _have_ to stop going to fight club.”

Tony nodded dumbly. He didn’t have the energy to argue. Talking about this was as draining as coping with it. He felt guilty for what he’d done, guilty for asking for help, guilty for needing to be taken care of.

“I’m sorry I’m such an idiot,” Tony said.

“Hey. No. Don’t be sorry,” Bruce replied. Tony was hearing that phrase a lot. “Thank you for telling me. We’ll get this figured out. Let’s just take it one step at a time, okay?”

That was Bruce’s doctor voice. Tony had to admit that it, unlike the doctor face, was pretty effective.

“Do you have to keep me in medical for the IV?”

“I can set it up in your room. Or his,” he said, nodding at Bucky. “Just promise me you won’t yank it out this time.”

“I promise.”

...

It had been two days since Tony’s ‘unfortunate incident,’ and true to his word, Bruce had brought in his specialists, setting up meetings that Tony thought about cancelling but didn’t. He knew his friend had his best interests at heart, and he had promised to try. It was time to get better. This was a stressful but necessary step in that process.

_Or you could just go back to fight club._

Not an option. Well. Technically, it was, but he didn’t want to open himself up to that temptation. After a full exam, Bruce had told him he hadn’t been far from hospitalization, which was the step before total system shutdown. So no more dangerous side-gigs, no matter how much Tony wanted or needed them. It wasn’t worth the risk.

Tony’s nutritionist, a woman named Danielle Lopez, was nice, peppy, and very enthusiastic about the food plan she’d created for him based on his answers to her email questionnaire. He’d barely said a word the entire meeting, listening and nodding, letting her tell him all about how FRIDAY was going to help monitor his eating. Tony had gotten a distinct ‘big brother is watching you’ impression from the whole thing. This was exactly what he _hadn’t_ wanted: control being taken away from him.

It was okay. It was going to be fine. He could do this. Nobody was asking him to do anything he wasn’t capable of.

Except it didn’t feel fine. It felt impossible, like a standard he’d never live up to because he wasn’t good enough or strong enough.

After the meeting he’d headed for his workshop, because he wasn’t about to go socialize. He wasn’t in any kind of place to interact with other living beings. He hadn’t been back since _that night_ , and the cleanup was going to take days. When he stepped inside, his heart nearly stopped.

His workshop was immaculate.

_What the hell?_

The broken bits had been repaired or replaced. The tables had magically returned to their original positions. The screws had all been gathered up and put back in the case. The char marks from his repulsor blasts had vanished.

_It’s like it never even happened. Everything I did is gone._

It hadn’t been pretty, but it had been _his_. He’d expected to have to clean it up himself, to fix what he’d broken, and he’d wanted to do it. It was going to be symbolic of what he was doing with his life. Now it couldn’t be. He couldn’t do this, couldn’t be this. He’d never be able to make himself look shiny and new again, as if the damage the world had done to him, the damage he’d done to himself, had never happened. A big part of him wanted to trash everything again. He imagined it, imagined what it would look like, how it would feel to ruin it all. _That mess was mine_ , he thought. _Quit taking things away from me._

He sat under his desk with the lights off for an hour. He thought about calling Bucky or Rhodey, but didn’t. They couldn’t have helped, and he was tired of pulling his friends into his sphere of chaos. _They already think I’m nuts. I don’t need to add fuel to the fire._

When his alarm finally went off, he trundled to the private office on the third floor, now specifically reserved for him and Megan Haldi, his new therapist.

The session went poorly. Poorly for Tony, anyway. It was like opening up a wound that looked sort of healed on the outside, but was festering on the inside. It was painful, and difficult, and didn't feel like it was really helping anything at all. He'd ended up in a ball on the floor, because apparently Tony couldn't say more than three words without freaking out. But at least he'd gotten everything out into the open. According to Megan, now they could start moving forward. Tony wasn't so sure he believed it. 

The day dragged on forever. Tony felt controlled, manhandled, wrung dry. When it was time for dinner, he sat alone in his workshop, fork twirling uselessly in his hand. He stared at his food but couldn’t bring himself to touch it. And so he found himself knocking on Bucky’s door, even though Bucky had already done so much, and Tony didn’t deserve his help.

“Hey, doll." Bucky took the container from his hands - why had Tony even bothered to bring it with him? - and ushered him inside.

“I can’t eat,” Tony said, sitting down at the foot of Bucky’s bed. “I keep staring at it and I can’t eat it.”

Bucky set the food down on the nightstand and approached Tony, fingers threading soothingly into his hair. “That’s okay.”

Tony closed his eyes. “It’s not, though. I’m supposed to do it, why can’t I do it?”

“This ain’t a contest. You do what you can when you’re ready. That’s all anybody expects.”

“I don’t know if all this is going to work.” _What if it’s too late? What if I can’t break the patterns, what if I can’t fix it?_

Bucky took Tony’s hand. “C’mon. A shower will make you feel better. Then you can try again.”

Tony nodded, allowing Bucky to lead him to the bathroom. He washed Tony's hair and scrubbed him clean, erasing the day from his body with gentle hands. Tony drew him into a kiss that started out chaste and ended needy, and soon they found themselves back on the bed, Bucky coming apart with Tony laid out beneath him, calling his name.

...

“So. Tony. How are you doing today?”

Tony sat cross-legged, picking at a few stray threads on the arm of the sofa while mulling over the question. It was his third visit - they were trying every other day - and he felt like they’d only just started digging into things, because the first session had been devoted to Tony opening his metaphorical festering wound, and then the second session had just been a shitshow.

“I’m… I don’t know how I am.” He sighed. “I slept last night. For five hours. So that’s good.”

“Is sleep still difficult for you?”

“No. Well. Yes. When I’m not with Bucky.”

“Are you with him often?”

“Every night,” Tony said, feeling stupid saying it aloud. But apparently that was okay in here. He was allowed to say stupid things. “Is that bad?”

“No. There’s nothing wrong with finding comfort in being with someone you love. Of course, eventually you want to be able to sleep without your partner, but it sounds like this is progress in a positive direction.” She paused, making a note before asking her next question. “How about eating?”

“It’s still hard.”

“Why is that?”

_Because you don’t deserve it._

“Because I don’t deserve it,” Tony said. According to Megan, he was supposed to repeat that inner voice verbatim. It was different, hearing himself say the thoughts aloud. They sounded less powerful, somehow, and eventually that was supposed to help him understand that they might not be true, either.

“Why do you think that?”

_You picked the wrong side._

“I picked the wrong side. _Damn_ this was frustrating. “I turned against my friends. I let them get put in prison.”

“And why did you do that?”

Tony had a fleeting thought that he could probably do this therapy thing all by himself, because it seemed like all she ever asked him was ‘why.’ Why are you upset, why is it hard, why do you feel that way? He probably wouldn’t be putting in the effort if he didn’t have someone else asking the questions, though. He was not a licensed therapist, and even if he had been, he still would’ve needed someone else to help him sort this out. _I helped Bucky,_ he thought. _Now I have to let someone else help me._

“I thought it was the right thing to do. I… the Avengers needed to be controlled. We had hurt innocent people. I had good reasons and I had bad reasons for it. It was important to me that we were held accountable for our actions, that we had some control overhead to keep us in check. But…” Tony trailed off.

_You also wanted the blame off you._

“I wanted the blame off me. Off us. I didn’t want to be responsible for anyone else’s pain any more. If the UN was telling us what to do, and we messed up, it would be their fault. Not ours.” He sighed, rubbing his face. “Which isn’t true. But that kills me, all the time. That any part of my justification, even such a small one, was selfish. I didn’t want people coming up to me telling me I’d killed their kids any more.”

She looked at him and nodded in understanding.

“That must’ve been hard.”

“Yeah, well, I deserved it. I did kill their kids. Maybe not directly. But I created Ultron. Hell, I created Iron Man. I started all of this.”

“Do you think taking on that guilt helps you or hurts you?”

Tony stared at his hands, folded in his lap.

“It helps me get things done. I use it to push myself to work harder.”

“Do you ever think about taking a break?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because I can’t. I can’t stop.”

“Is that true?”

Tony growled in frustration. This was like pulling teeth, yanking them out one by one. He grabbed the stress ball off the table in front of him and squeezed.

“No. I _can_ stop.” He looked up at her. “I’m only saying that because you told me to. I’m still waiting to believe it.”

“It’s a process. It’s okay if you start out saying it just because I told you to.”

“Great.” Tony threw the stress ball onto the floor. “Can we talk about something else?”

“Of course.” Megan looked down at her notes. “What about Steve Rogers?”

Fuck. They were going from one difficult topic to another. Why couldn’t they just talk about the weather? Two minute conversation, easy. This? Not easy.

“What about him?”

“Are you still angry at him?”

“I want to be.”

“Tell me more about that.”

That was just a fancy way of asking ‘why’ again. Tony chewed on a nail, thinking.

“He lied to me. He betrayed my trust. So I want to hate him, but I don’t. And I hate myself for not being able to be mad at him any more.” He took a deep breath. “I also can’t stop thinking about him kissing me, but I’m with Bucky, and that feels wrong.”

“Why?”

“Why! Right. Why.” He shook his head and rolled his eyes. “I don’t know, because I’m not supposed to love two people at once. Because I can’t just be happy with one good thing, probably the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Of _course_ I want something more, something I can’t have. And he’s Bucky’s best friend, too, which just makes me feel like an even bigger asshole.”

“Have you ever considered a relationship inclusive of multiple partners? There are plenty of people who prefer polyamorous relationships. When done correctly, with the full consent of all partners, it can be even more fulfilling than a single monogamous relationship.”

“That’s… not something I’d ever considered.” He’d had multiple partners in college, but they definitely hadn’t all known about each other, and it had been better that way. He'd never heard of a polyamorous relationship that had actually worked.

“I’ll send some literature to you - take a look when you get a chance. It might be a unique solution to consider.”

“Okay.” He paused, thinking. “Doesn’t jealousy become a factor in those kinds of things?”

“It can. That’s why communication between partners is so important.”

“Right. Right.”

Megan allowed the silence to fill the room, searching for something in her notes. “I want to touch on something you brought up last time.”

“I would really prefer it if we didn’t talk about last time."

“This is something that I think we need to revisit,” Megan replied, her tone gentle but firm.

_So that’s a no, then._

“You said you haven’t spoken to the Avengers about the things you did for them, but you weren’t clear as to why.”

“That’s not a question,” Tony said.

“You know my question, Tony." 

“Why. Right?” Megan nodded. “That’s… kind of complicated.”

“Try to explain it. It doesn’t matter how it comes out.”

“Okay. Well.” He chewed on his lip. “You know, I think it’s because I cared too much? I wanted it all to work out so badly, and there was a chance that it wouldn’t. There was a chance that the brainwashing would stick, there was a chance that I wouldn’t win the trial. There was a chance that my revisions wouldn’t go over so well with the Security Council, and if they didn’t like them the UN would never sign off. So. There was a lot at stake, and I was sort of superstitious, so I didn’t say anything. I kept it all pretty much secret. And then and then and then… I didn’t want them to know how much I cared.”

“What did you have to lose by telling them then?”

“My pride,” Tony said. “Wow, I… didn’t even know that. That’s verbal processing for you. My pride. I picked a side, and I didn’t want to lose face by saying the team was more important than the side I picked, more important than whether or not I was right. Even though it always was.”

“What do you have to lose by telling them now?”

“Same thing. I watched the videos, after our last session. It’s like I was a crazy person. I was obsessed. And I guess... I don’t know. I’m also worried, because when people know what and who you care about, they use it to take advantage of you.”

“If you did tell them, it would give them the opportunity to thank you. Have you thought about whether or not it’s right to deprive them of that?”

“No. I don’t want to be thanked.”

“But you’re not the only person involved here. There are two sides to these relationships with your friends, Tony. That’s what I want you to think about for our next session. I won’t try to sway you one way or the other, but I do want you to try to consider things from their perspective.”

“Okay,” Tony said. “Is that my only assignment?”

“Yes. It will probably be more challenging than you think.”

“Should I write anything down? Or is this one of those ‘complete it in your head but have it ready to talk about’ things?”

“I’ll leave that up to you.”

...

There are two sides to every relationship.

That statement was keeping Tony awake. Bucky had fallen asleep an hour ago. He’d already been tired, which had absolutely been Tony’s fault, and then Tony had challenged the sleepy Soldier to recite the longest passage of poetry he knew. It was, of course, Shakespeare, and Bucky had fallen asleep in the middle of a word. Tony was definitely going to tease him about that in the morning. Now, though, he was stuck on what Megan had said at the end of their session the day before.

Was he wrong? Did the Avengers deserve to know exactly how they’d gotten back? Would he want to be able to say thank you, if their situations were reversed? _I would,_ he thought. _I would hate someone keeping something like that from me._

That was the answer he’d been afraid of.

_You, Tony Stark, are an enormous hypocrite._

“FRIDAY?” Tony said, his voice low. “You know those video records of the trial and the summit?”

“Yes, Boss.”

“Can you maintain their security as long as you’re sending them within my private server?”

“Of course, Boss. What did you have in mind?”

“Send them to the Avengers. Make it a burn-after-reading scenario.”

“Are you sure?”

Sometimes it was creepy, the way FRIDAY really seemed like a person, double checking before following instructions.

“Yeah. At this rate, it’s bound to get out anyway. I think it’s about time everybody knew.”

“Preparing messages.” Tony held his breath. “Messages sent.”

...

The next day, Tony woke up feeling better than he had in a long time. He didn’t dread seeing his nutritionist, he didn’t have to suppress any urges to go to fight club, and he’d actually gotten a good night’s sleep. No nightmares.

Since eating had become a bit easier, Tony had started having meals in the kitchen. It was a good routine, forcing himself out of the workshop, even if nobody was around. The change of scenery was healthy, and it helped keep him accountable. Helped keep him from hiding out all day and isolating himself, which apparently was a _symptom_ , which had been an interesting discovery.

Since it was noon, Tony had expected to run into at least one or two people. What he hadn’t expected was to hear yelling halfway down the hall. He frowned, picking up the pace, because that was definitely Rhodey’s voice, and he did not sound happy.

“What the hell is going on in here?” Tony asked, stepping into the kitchen to see… almost everyone. Bucky was at the gym, Tony knew that, and Steve was MIA, but the rest of the Avengers were present and accounted for.

“These guys are being ungrateful assholes, is what,” Rhodey said.

“What-”

“Why didn’t you tell us about this, Stark?” Wanda demanded, cutting him off. “You keep this a secret for months, and then out of nowhere, this? Just a video. No note, no explanation?”

Tony should’ve realized he’d be walking into a fight about him, should’ve known when he hadn’t received any responses that something wasn’t quite right. Damn it. He'd gone about this the wrong way. Of course he had. He shoved his hands into his pockets, trying to ignore the nagging pain in his side. It was mostly psychosomatic now; it hurt whenever he was uncomfortable.

“I thought it would be easier to show you than to tell you." 

“Why didn’t you show us sooner?” Natasha asked.

Tony didn’t have an answer, not one that he wanted to share. He stayed silent, and Wanda smiled bitterly.

“See. He can’t even talk to us. I told you, he hasn’t changed.”

“Don't do that," Rhodey growled. "Don't just write him off. He worked his ass off for you, he deserves better than that.”

_No you don’t. You’re still the same Tony Stark. They all see it. Can’t you see it too?_

Wanda's lips curved down into a frown. “Why are you defending him?”

“Because he’s my friend." 

“I don’t care that he’s your friend, this isn’t fair. What’s he trying to do, make us feel guilty?”

“No,” Tony began, but Rhodey didn’t let him finish.

“I can't believe this. Did none of you even see what he did? He’s the reason you’re back. Without him, you’d all still be in hiding, bumming around in Wakanda.” Rhodey was getting worked up now, Tony could tell by the way his friend’s whole body had gone rigid. “You all are so deluded, you have no idea how hard this was for him to do. How much he gave up for you.”

“Rhodey, stop, you don’t need to-”

“After everything we’ve all been through, he should’ve told us,” Wanda said. “I’m so tired of him not trusting us! What is his problem?”

"I was _scared._ " Tony said it loud enough that this time, no one interrupted him. "I thought that if you saw my name attached to it, you'd think it was a trick. But it wasn't. I just wanted you all to come home." Tony looked at the floor and counted the tiles, waiting for someone to speak. When no one stopped him, he kept going. "And then when you _did_ come home, nothing was the same. I was already in a bad place, and it - it was easier just to keep it from you. I wanted to make things better between us, but I didn't know how, and it was so much easier to keep you at a distance, because then you wouldn't actually know how bad things were. At the rate I was going, I probably would've killed myself."

“What?”

_Shit._ Tony turned slowly. How long had Steve been standing there? "Hi, Cap.”

"You would've killed yourself? Tony, what are you talking about?" Steve asked the question point blank, and Tony was suddenly mute, the words caught in his throat.

“Stark.” Clint crossed his arms. “Explain.”

_Come on. Just spit it out already._

“I, uh. By the time you all got back, I was already doing a lot of stupid things. I wasn’t eating, wasn’t sleeping. And my PTSD - well, that’s still not fixed, but... It was really bad. I was getting into fights on purpose. Hurting myself because it gave me mental clarity. I cracked a couple ribs, though, and that was the end of that. I didn’t… I didn’t think I deserved you. All of you. I still don’t. I still feel so responsible for everything bad that’s ever happened to us. And if I had continued on the path I was on, I would’ve died. Or gotten myself killed. Not sure which, but that’s just semantics, really.”

No one spoke. Tony clenched his jaw, trying not to feel exposed.

“Is that true?” Natasha asked, breaking the silence.

“Yes,” Bruce said. “He was starving himself, right under our noses, and none of us noticed.”

Tony felt everyone’s eyes on him and wanted so badly to run away, to disappear and not have this conversation at all. But Megan had said it was important for him to be upfront about his issues with the people he cared about. And he cared about the Avengers, so he kept himself rooted where he stood.

“What?” Clint blinked and shook his head, still not understanding.

“This really isn’t how I wanted you to find out. I’m sorry. But I'm in therapy. And I'm supposed to be honest with people, I guess, so… This is me being that.”

“Tony.” Steve looked the way Tony had imagined Bucky would, when he'd first admitted everything. Stunned. Hurt. Like he couldn't believe Tony hadn't told him, or maybe couldn't believe Tony had done it to himself in the first place.

“I'm okay. I mean, I'm not, but I will be. I just wanted you guys to know.” Tony looked at Wanda. “It's not a guilt trip. Just an FYI. My headspace... isn't great. But I'm trying.”

Tony didn’t know how to respond when Steve turned and walked out of the room.

“Steve. Steve, what the hell?” Tony was surprised when it was Clint, not Rhodey, who went charging after Steve, his shouts echoing back from the hallway.

“He’s just upset,” Natasha said, as if that could possibly explain Steve's behavior. 

“Yeah,” Tony said, dazed. “I, uh.”

“Why did you send the videos?” Wanda asked, sounding much less angry.

That was (finally) a question Tony was comfortable answering. “I realized - with some help - that if it were me, I would want to know. It was unfair, not including you. I’m sorry.”

“I hardly think an apology is necessary,” Vision said.

“Yeah. We should be apologizing to you,” Sam added. “Or thanking you. For getting us all home.”

“You don’t need to thank me." 

“Don’t be stupid. Yes we do.” Natasha hugged him, wrapping her arms around his neck. Tony relaxed into the embrace, letting his head rest on her shoulder. “Thank you, Tony.” He took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

“You’re welcome.”

...

It was late when Tony finally got back to Bucky's room.

He'd spent hours in the kitchen with the team. Natasha had started a trend, and everyone had hugged him, except for Vision, because he was an android and hugging wasn’t really his thing, and Clint, because he hadn’t gotten back to the kitchen until a few minutes later (with no reasonable explanation as to why Steve had disappeared). Obviously that hadn't fixed everything, but... It had been so long since Tony had let his friends anywhere near him. It was nice to be reminded that despite whatever had happened, they still _cared_. 

They had asked questions, questions about the trial, about the summit, about what he’d done and how he’d accomplished it. He’d explained that yes, he had taken the first year law test (and passed) and enrolled in law school as a second year student so he could be supervised by a licensed attorney and handle Bucky’s case himself. He’d explained how he’d pushed the revised Accords through the United Nations Security Council mostly on sheer force of will, although he’d done a lot of research beforehand, because he’d known that if he could argue for his revisions by citing an existing treaty bearing those same terms, he had a much better chance of success.

They had talked for hours after that, standing around the kitchen island like no time had passed. It was almost like they had never fought in the first place. The only thing out of place about it was Steve. Tony couldn't get over Steve's reaction. It bothered him, that he didn't understand why Steve had just up and left. 

_Who does that? Who listens to that kind of speech and walks out of the room without saying anything?_

“You’re thinkin’ about Steve,” Bucky said from his side of the bed. Tony raised his eyebrows. How had he known that? “He feels responsible, in case you’re wonderin’.”

Tony turned his head, but Bucky was staring at the ceiling. “You talked to him?”

“Yeah. He was upset. Said he keeps hurtin’ you and doesn’t know how to fix it.”

“Do you really want to talk about Steve?” Tony asked, hoping Bucky could read the subtext. _Doesn’t this conversation bother you?_

“He’s my friend." Bucky's hand moved to stroke Tony’s hair. “It’s stupid, ’cause he knows about you and me. But he comes to me about you anyway.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

Bucky looked at him, then rolled over so his chest was pressed against Tony’s, careful not to disrupt his still-healing injury. “What is it you mean to ask me, doll? If I’m okay with Steve likin’ you? Or the other way around?”

Tony didn’t answer. Bucky dropped kisses along his sternum, lips skimming over Tony’s scar before he spoke again.

“You’re allowed to love two people at once, y’know.”

“What?”

“You and Steve… that’s been goin’ on for a while. And I’m not so traditional. Sharing ain’t out of the question.”

_What?_

Tony opened his mouth to respond and then closed it again, repeating that process enough times that he probably looked like a fish. Bucky smirked at him, and Tony scowled, because this was supposed to be a serious conversation.

“What - like - you mean like a three person… thing?”

Bucky nodded, kissing the corner of Tony’s mouth and then his cheekbone. Tony honestly couldn’t believe this was the _second_ time someone had suggested this to him, and that this time the words had come out of Bucky Barnes’s mouth.

“Long as Steve’s up for it. And _you’re_ up for it.”

“I didn’t think you’d be into that.” Tony frowned. “I don’t even know if I’d be into that.”

_You would. You absolutely would be into that._

“I’m not sayin’ I wanna share you all the time.” Bucky’s eyes darkened possessively. “I’m just sayin’... I love you. And Stevie’s my best friend. Could be a way to give everybody what they want.”

Tony took a moment to process what Bucky was saying. He was willing to make what Tony considered a pretty big compromise, if not the biggest compromise a person could make, because he knew that Steve and Tony were still dealing with something… unresolved. Why was Bucky willing to do this? How did he make it sound so easy?

_He wants you to be happy. He’d give you the world if he could._

This wasn’t just about Tony and what he wanted, though. He couldn’t live with an arrangement where Bucky wasn’t getting everything he needed, too.

“Yeah, but we both have to be happy, not just me.”

“I’m happy bein’ with you. Besides, it’d get you to stop obsessin’ about it. You’re lettin’ it worry you, I can hear it.”

“I still don’t believe you can actually hear me think,” Tony argued.

“I can,” Bucky said resolutely, once again rolling over onto his back.

“It feels like you’re making light of this." 

“Not tryin’ to. Just seems simple to me. That’s all.”

“Have _you_ ever thought about Steve like that? I just realized I’ve never asked.”

A long pause, Bucky studying the ceiling again. “I’d be lyin’ if I said I hadn’t thought about it. Not hung up on him or anythin’. But I wouldn’t kick him outta bed, either.”

Now _that_ was interesting. Why hadn’t Bucky ever mentioned that before? Granted, this whole ‘invite Steve’ thing had been Bucky’s suggestion in the first place, so maybe that was his way of bringing it up?

“Hang on. Back up. Are we talking about inviting Steve to bed with us? Or are we talking about more than that? Would he just be our sometimes-sex-buddy, or are you suggesting a full on three person relationship?”

“I think we need to talk to Steve before we decide that."

“Yeah. Right. Of course.” Tony frowned. That wasn’t really an answer, but maybe Bucky didn’t have one. Whatever they were going to do, if they were going to do it - and that was a big if - then Steve needed to be part of the conversation. Which meant Tony would need to make things right with Steve, even though he wasn’t even sure what was wrong any more. That was sort of the last piece of his therapy puzzle. ‘Figure out what to do about Steve Rogers.’

“You’re thinkin’ again."

“Yep,” Tony stalled, not sure he wanted to bring up exactly _what_ he was thinking. “Buck.”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t want you to feel like you’re not enough for me.”

Bucky looked over at him, blue eyes vulnerable, his face unguarded and open. “I don’t,” he said, and Tony believed him.

“Good.”

“Now are you gonna stop worryin’, or am I gonna have to make you?”

Tony didn’t hesitate.

“ _Definitely_ gonna have to make me.”

...

Five weeks in and Tony was doing… well. Really well. So much so that he was a little concerned something was about to go wrong.

He’d been eating all his meals, which had gotten easier thanks to therapy. He’d been talking with the Avengers. He’d even been cleared to spar with Natasha, although he wanted to wait on that for another week just to be safe. For now he was building up strength on the punching bag, which was satisfying in a way that fight club hadn’t been. It wasn’t about pain now, it was about expending mental energy through a physical outlet. It was good for him, and he enjoyed it. Positive progress.

Things still weren’t resolved with Steve. Tony had wanted to talk to him, and had tried a couple times, but whenever he called, Steve was out. His therapist had advised him to put a pin in that and circle back to it, which made Tony crazy, but at this point he didn’t have much of a choice. You couldn’t talk to a person you couldn’t track down.

Tony had just finished up at the gym, taken a shower, and dressed for his day - which meant sweats and a hoodie, because the rest of his day was workshop time - when his phone rang.

_Incoming call from: Pepper Potts._

“Well hello, extremely busy CEO of Stark Industries, how can I help you?”

“Hi, Tony. How are you?”

There was so much wrapped up in that question, because the last time Pepper had actually talked to him, he’d been in a pretty awful place. He felt just a little triumphant being able to tell her that he actually didn’t need her to worry any more.

“I really hope I don’t have to kick myself for saying this later, but I’m good. Things are better. I’m getting better.”

“That’s great, Tony. I’m happy for you.”

“So! To what do I owe the pleasure of your call?”

“I was actually calling to ask you if you’re free tomorrow night.”

“No plans to speak of. Why?”

“There’s a function, an event happening in downtown. I’m giving a little speech, and I was hoping you would go. Actually, I think you’d be really disappointed if you missed it.”

“What kind of function?” Tony asked. “Stark Industries? I didn’t see anything on the books.”

“No, not for SI. It’s... sort of a surprise. Do you think you’re up for it?”

Tony couldn’t help it - he was _curious_. If this wasn’t related to Stark Industries and Pepper was giving a speech, what could it possibly be?

“Sure. Yeah. I’ll be there.”

“Great. It’s formal, black tie. You should bring Bucky.”

“How do you know about-”

“Rhodey and I talk. And Bruce is pretty bad at keeping secrets.”

“Right.” Tony smiled despite himself. “Okay. I’ll bring Bucky.”

“Great. I’ll send the invitation to your email. You’re going to like this, Tony. I think it’ll make you happy.”

“You’re getting more and more cryptic, Pep. Wanna give me a hint?”

“Sorry, Tony, I have a meeting, I have to go. I’ll see you tomorrow night!”

The call disconnected, and Tony rolled his eyes. Meeting. Yeah, right.

“Hey, Buck?” Tony called. Bucky emerged from the bathroom, still wet from the shower, towel wrapped around his waist. Damn it all, was that distracting. He tried to remember what he’d been about to ask. “How would you feel about being my date to a black tie event tomorrow night?”

“What’s it for?”

“No idea." Tony pulled up his email and opened the attachment. There was no title, just a place, a time, and the dress code. “Guess we’ll find out.”

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thanks so much for reading!
> 
> Just wanted to add a quick note down here about the progression of recovery. Obviously, recovery looks different for different people. I didn't want to dwell too much on Tony's first few weeks of recovery, because it would have been a lot of the same thing. While that's obviously realistic - going through the same patterns, struggling with the same problems, etc. - it would have bogged this story down, and instead I wanted to include a representative sample of things Tony deals with as he starts to heal. 
> 
> It's also very important to me that Bucky sticks up for Tony when Bruce starts to give him a hard time. All these demons of Tony's are hard to overcome, and I wish that everyone struggling with these kinds of things had a person like Bucky who would just be there for them without judgment.


	4. Resolution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony flashes back to his meeting with the Security Council. Group therapy is followed by a gala, and Natasha is selective about the secrets she decides to keep. Tony and Bucky and Steve try to figure things out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I did use sample transcripts from the UN Security Council for the first part of this. I don't necessarily agree or disagree with the way Tony revised the Accords, that's just how he did it in my version of this universe.

 

 

_Tony's not sure he's ready for this._

_The gala the night before had been exhausting, if only because all he'd wanted to do was go back to his hotel and read over his notes until they were burned into his mind like a brand._

_They're in there, though. It's all memorized, like it always is, and he’s ready. He has to be. Everything has boiled down to this. He hopes that his reputation won't ruin his chances, hopes that the Council understands his arguments. Hopes that they agree with him. Hopes that they really hear him._

_The fifteen members are congregated around a large circular table - or it would have been circular, if it hadn’t had the back end cut out. Tony is supposed to stand not in the open space, but in the very center, so he’ll have to rotate around to look at everyone. That’s fine. Tony has been the center of far more attention in the past. He's not afraid of their scrutiny of him - just their scrutiny of what he's asking for. The way he stands and speaks will probably only count for ten percent, with the other ninety riding on the document in front of them._

_The final members of the Council take their seats, and Tony arranges his papers on the podium as the President calls the meeting to order. The agenda is adopted, which is a good start, although largely unsurprising, and Tony is officially invited to be part of the session. He looks up as the President continues._

_“The Security Council will now begin its consideration of the item on its agenda. Members of the Council have before them document S/2017/0027. This document contains the text of an amendment whose approval would revise the original Sokovia Accords and pass corresponding judgments on members of the Avengers Initiative. This document is submitted by Anthony Edward Stark. The Council is ready to proceed to a vote on the document before it. I shall first give the floor to Mr. Stark to make his statements before the voting.”_

_Tony takes a deep breath and presses the power button on the projector. It flickers on, and his list of provisions appears in front of them._

_Only five. After everything he’s been through, all the treaties he’s read, all the research he’s done, it has just come down to five little provisions. Of course, he also has a mountain of individual revisions, line-item edits that the Council has already read and their corresponding appendices. But the provisions are probably the most important part - and there are only five. Is that smart, or stupid?_

_Smart, he thinks to himself. This is the smart thing to do. Try to push too much through at once, and they’re more likely to reject everything. This is our best chance._

_“I’d like to once again thank this Council for convening to further discuss this matter. To begin, I will read my suggested additional provisions for the Sokovia Accords into the record.”_

_Tony clears his throat, glancing at the papers in front of him._

_Confident but serious, Stark. Ready - go._

_“Provision One. In all combat situations, the undersigned shall be bound to International Humanitarian Law. This includes proper observance of proportionality, distinction, and military necessity. Failure to adhere to these principles is a punishable offense, with the nature and severity of the punishment at the discretion of this Security Council._

_“Provision Two. The undersigned may appeal a combat decision made by this Council. The Council may maintain or amend their decision, a process outlined in appendix G. After first appeal, all decisions are final and legally binding. Appeal may be made before or during, but not after, combat._

_“Provision Three. In a true Emergency, the undersigned members of the Avengers Initiative possess the authority to decide, by a two thirds majority vote, whether or not to engage in combat. In appendix A, I have defined the term Emergency as either A) a situation requiring appropriate force, above and beyond any military capacity, about which the Council does not have the time or means to convene, or B) a situation whose immediate outcome could result in the collapse of civilization or the worldwide destruction of humanity._

_“Provision Four. Any action of the undersigned resulting in collateral damage, whether minimal or significant, may be subject to legal action following Council review. Any charges brought to bear on the undersigned shall come from the Security Council._

_“Provision Five. It is the responsibility of this Council to approach known enhanced individuals and secure their signatures on these Accords. Enhanced individuals who sign this document shall be given the opportunity to join the Avengers Initiative or to remain independent operatives. Any independent operative will be bound to this document and all of its conditions. Individuals who decline these opportunities and do not sign must operate as non-enhanced civilians. Individuals who refuse to sign and continue to operate as vigilantes shall be considered criminals._

  _“This ends my list of provisions.” He swallows hard. “My individual revisions can be found in the document before you. Should it please this Council, I will now move on to my reasoning and recommendations for judgment of members of the Avengers Initiative.”_

_He looks down at his papers again. They’re just a crutch, he doesn’t really need them, but he uses them to make himself feel busy so he can’t think about the fact that after this, all of his work immediately goes to a vote. With Bucky’s trial, he’d had to sit and wait for the verdict. Today, he’ll be in the room when the hands go up and the matter is put to rest for good._

_“In the case of Wanda Maximoff,” Tony starts, “it is my recommendation for this Council to defer judgment. As argument for my recommendation, with specific focus on the events in Lagos, I present the following._

_“Miss Maximoff made an error in judgment in a critical moment. She was a new, essentially untrained operative brought into combat with members of the Avengers Initiative whose experience and total combat hours far exceeded her own. She reacted, the way any person would react. In those moments of stress, a person’s body has a natural impulse - much of the time that impulse is wrong. And the way a person learns to fight that gut reaction, to keep cool in the field, is practice. Practice we didn’t give her. She might be directly responsible, but it was a failure on the part of the Avengers that put her in that situation in the first place. The blame isn’t on her. It’s on us._

_“For that reason, I argue that we reserve judgment on Wanda Maximoff until such time as she’s been fully trained. In the document before you, I have outlined a specific plan for dealing with untrained operatives to prevent this issue in the future. I also encourage a representative, appointed by this Security Council, to supervise this and any subsequent training at the Avengers facility. Once miss Maximoff is trained, and after she’s been tested in the field, the Council can revisit this conversation and provide final judgment._

_“In the case of Scott Lang, Clint Barton, and Sam Wilson, I argue that these individuals receive a full pardon, contingent on their agreement with the revised Accords. It is my position that these operatives chose the wrong side of a fight, but were coerced to do so with insufficient knowledge of the consequences. It is also my position that they did not do enough to provoke legal action. Yes, they contributed to the damage at the airport. They participated in that fight, on what we consider to be the wrong side. But I argue that an indictment would unfairly incriminate these operatives, holding them responsible when the blame should fall on Steve Rogers._

_“For Natasha Romanov, I argue a similar point. She was in favor of the Accords, she was on our side. But in a single moment, she protected Steve, because he was our friend. Our leader. He's a difficult person to say no to. I believe Natasha’s previous involvement in fighting for the Accords should negate that slip in judgment._

_“And finally, Steve Rogers. Steve was driven to find and protect one James Buchanan Barnes after the bombing in Vienna. We believed, thanks to a deception orchestrated by Colonel Zemo, that Mr. Barnes was responsible for this bombing. Of course, we later found out we were wrong. But because we believed he was guilty, Steve felt the need to save his friend before we got ahold of him, by whatever means necessary._

_“Steve Rogers acted when he shouldn’t have. He abused his personal relationships and his previous status as de-facto Captain of the Avengers in order to achieve his personal goals. He manipulated the members of our team, convinced them to follow him because he knew he could, didn't argue when they threw their allegiance behind him because they expected Steve to be doing the right thing. For that, he was wrong. He should not have allowed other operatives to stand behind him in that cause._

_“With that being said, none of the actions taken by Steve Rogers would’ve been necessary had we tracked down James Buchanan Barnes when we should have, long before the bombing in Vienna, when we first found out he was still alive._

_“We knew he was out there. SHIELD knew, the United Nations knew. But no meaningful effort was made to bring Barnes in. How do I know this? Because the moment he was suspected of a large-scale crime, it took just hours to receive a tip on Barnes and track him down. Hours. How was it possible to find him so easily, if we’d been ‘looking for him the whole time?’ Clearly, we weren’t trying very hard, not until it really mattered, until Barnes had caused a problem. The responsibility for that shouldn’t fall on Steve Rogers. Yes, his actions were his own. He marched his army across the Rubicon, and for that he is undeniably responsible. But we should’ve had Barnes in custody. If the Accords were put in place to keep enhanced individuals in check, why didn’t we care about the Winter Soldier remaining at large? The mere potential for a threat should have been reason enough to track him down and bring him in._

_“I feel like I’m singing the same tune here, but it bears repeating. We failed. We failed to act when we should have, failed to protect Steve Rogers from this massive conflict of interest. Why, when we insisted on oversight for known enhanced individuals, did we not include Mr. Barnes in our scope?_

_“Every person has a fatal weakness. Everyone can be bought - it’s a matter of naming the right price. In the case of Captain America, the right price was, and has always been, James Buchanan Barnes. And yet we assumed, like everybody assumes, that Steve Rogers was incorruptible. The leader of the Avengers team, a beacon of hope in a war-torn world. We let ourselves believe he was perfect, and then persecuted him when he didn’t live up to our expectations, when he chose to go after Barnes instead of staying out of the way._

_“I realize that in my earlier statements, I blame Steve Rogers for coercing his teammates into making poor decisions. I stand by those arguments. He abused his influence, took advantage of the fact that most of the people who know him believe he can do no wrong, believe that his stance on a given issue is right because it’s him. And yes, if he had killed innumerable innocents, if he had caused enormous amounts of destruction in the timeline in question, I might agree that his behavior merited a punishment. But Barnes has been cleared of all charges. Steve wasn’t aiding a criminal, wasn’t harboring a fugitive. I realize we didn't know that then, and I know I'm walking the fine line of oversimplifying this issue. But looking back, with a complete knowledge of all the facts, the only thing Steve Rogers did wrong - specifically in the eyes of the law - was to refuse to sign._

_“So in the case of Steve Rogers, I argue that we issue a full pardon, contingent on his signature on these revised Accords. We want him on our side, the side of justice, the side of international peace. We want him in the fights that matter, because like it or not, he can get people to follow him just because of who he is and what he represents. You can look at it as a trade if you want. A pardon in exchange for his cooperation. However you spin it, the best case scenario here is to get him to sign. A Steve Rogers who doesn’t sign this is a Steve Rogers you can’t ever hope to control. And that’s the point of this, right? Oversight. Control. This gets us to where we want to be, to a place where everyone has agreed to follow your guidance. It’s up to you to decide whether the ends ultimately justify the means.”_

_There. That's all there is. Blame it all on Steve and then try to absolve him. It's the only way it will all work._

_“Mr. Stark. Before we vote, I do have one question to ask you,” the President interjects. “Do you truly think, with your revisions, that your team will sign the new document?”_

_“Yes,” Tony says without hesitation. “As long as you leave my name off it.”_

_There’s too much bad blood now - if they see his name, they'll think it’s a trick. Besides, he doesn’t want anyone knowing what he's done, doesn’t want them to see how much he cares. Better to make them think the UN reconsidered of its own accord._

_“Thank you, Mr. Stark. Do you have any further remarks?”_

_Final statement, Stark. Make it count._

_“The introduction of the original Sokovia Accords created a division in the Avenger team. This division resulted in a conflict that could have been successfully avoided if this Council had opted for a gentle hand as opposed to a firm one. Don’t take this to mean that I misunderstood the situation. We absolutely needed to be put in check. I believed it then, and I believe it now. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be here. But if you try to break a horse by teaching it to fear you, your power is based on a threat, and not on mutual respect. A lot of horses won’t be broken like that - they’ll just spook. That’s what half my team did. ‘We don’t want you in charge. We don’t trust you.’ And how could they trust these Accords, this entire agreement, when up until then, they hadn’t been included in the conversation?_

_“You made us afraid, not so much with the content of the Accords, but with the way you presented them. We were afraid of what would happen to us, what would happen to our ability to operate as independent people who want to help. That fear made some of us listen, and some of us run away. A more gradual transition, one where we didn’t feel like our autonomy was being threatened, where we were part of a dialogue geared toward creating accountability, could have preserved the peace and, frankly, made this entire process unnecessary._

_“I’m not saying the Accords were wrong. I’ve always felt that they were right. I’m just saying that based on the way they were presented to us, rejecting them out of fear wasn’t entirely unfair. Maybe if my team hadn't been afraid, they would've signed. The revisions I’ve made are geared toward that specific goal - getting everyone to sign. Putting the Avengers and all other enhanced under the same umbrella. Subjecting them to your oversight. Like I said before: best case scenario.”_

_Tony glances around the circle, but finds only impassive faces. No way to tell what they're thinking. But that doesn't matter - it’ll all be over soon._

_“I shall put the amendment to a vote now,” the President says. “Those in favour of adopting these Revised Accords and the corresponding judgments?” Hands go up, too fast for Tony to count because he’s tired now, his brain lagging behind. “Those opposed?” More hands. “Those abstaining?”_

_Tony holds his breath._

_“There were seven votes in favor, five opposed, three abstaining. The amendment has been approved.”_

_Approved. Tony can’t believe it. Is he crying? He can’t feel his face enough to tell. Everything is numb._

_“I open the floor for Mr. Stark to provide his comments following the vote.”_

_Tony struggles to find words, even though they’re written plain as day on the papers in front of him._

_“First of all… Thank you. I'm… Speechless.” The gratitude overwhelms him, and he takes a deep breath to steady himself. “As for my closing remarks, I'd like to just touch on each of the provisions, if that's okay.”_

_The President nods for him to proceed._

_“Well, the first one is simple. It means we have to think. We have to make judgments about what we do, about the situations we get into. It holds us accountable in a way that anyone engaging in combat should be. I know this was sort of hinted at in the original Accords, but this spells it out specifically, gives us consequences if we mess it up._

_“The second one is important for this reason: if we don’t like what this Council decides, we can tell you why. It’s no guarantee that your decision will change, and in the end, it’s still your decision. But if there’s a really important reason we want to be involved in a fight, with an appeal, we can tell you about it._

_“The goal for provision three is to maintain the control and guidance of this Council while still allowing us to act in situations that need it. If the Council were to become incapacitated - if, god forbid, we experienced another alien attack - we’re not crippled, waiting for permission to step in and prevent catastrophic harm. But in any other situation, foreign or domestic, the Council’s authority is absolute._

_“Provision four… well. It means we can’t be stupid. Anything we do, any damage we cause, whether or not we do it on purpose, is subject to your review._  

_“Provision five makes this sort of like a superhero registry. I know a lot of people who will hate that. My team will hate that. But our mission is to make sure that people with the power to do serious damage aren’t running around engaging in combat with impunity. If you’re enhanced, these papers come across your desk. You can sign them and be part of a team. You can sign them and be independent. You can not sign them and just not use your powers. And if you refuse to sign and you start causing trouble, then you get brought in._

_“Thank you for understanding my reasoning, sharing my goals, and helping me take steps to bring my team back together. It means so much more than you'll ever know.”_

_Tony steps down, and other Council members give their own closing comments. The five permanent members each speak on why they voted in favor - Tony gets the feeling that the most important part of his argument was that having everyone indicted was ultimately less effective than making everyone sign._

_He half-listens through the statements, and stands there frozen as the Council members start to exit the room. He's caught up thinking about what happens next. He finally leaves, only vaguely aware of his surroundings as he makes his way outside and pulls out his phone._

_“Mr. Stark,” T’Challa answers._

_“It’s done. They’re through.”_

_“Congratulations.”_

_“I just wanted to make sure you’re still going to hold up your end of the deal.”_

_“Of course.”_

_“You promised. You’d better make it happen.”_

_“In all this time I have not broken my word - and yet you still don’t trust me.”_

_“Yeah, well. I don’t trust most people. Occupational hazard.”_

_T’Challa chuckles._  

_“Don’t worry, Mr. Stark. They may not be easy to convince; but you are right. I made you a promise. It will be done.”_

_Tony hears the call disconnect and shoves the phone back into his pocket, trying to still his shaking hands. He hopes against hope that the king can get those stubborn assholes to sign. With his team back together, he might finally be able to rest._

...

“So. Now that we’ve revisited this footage, let's talk about what's still unresolved here." 

The Avengers were in the conference room, the same one Tony and Steve had fought in just weeks before. Conveniently, Steve was absent - still as impossible to find as ever. Did he even live at the compound any more? Tony didn’t want to ask Bucky, because as much as he hated to admit it, their last conversation about Steve had made him… uncomfortable. He didn’t really want to broach the subject again until and unless he had a good reason.

This was their first try at a ‘group therapy session.’ Tony hadn’t suggested it, but he also hadn’t argued with the idea. As a group they still had some things to figure out.

When no one responded, Megan tried again. “Wanda? Did you have anything you wanted to say?”

Wanda frowned, then glanced up at Tony. “You put me on house arrest and didn't even tell me,” she said, her voice even and measured. They had all agreed to be reasonable, and so far, it was working pretty well. “And then I see this, this video. You defend me by saying I'm untrained. You fight for me and you hide it. You treat me like a child and expect me to be grateful.”

“But that's just it. I don't expect you to be grateful. I just… I want us to get to a place where we can trust each other again.”

“Do you trust _me_?” Wanda asked. Tony stared at her for a long time, because he knew the answer wouldn't help them.

“I don't trust most people,” Tony replied, shaking off the feeling of deja-vu.

“It sounds like trust may be something the both of you need to work on,” Megan said. _That's an understatement_ , Tony thought. “It can start small. For example, Tony, you can work toward trusting that Wanda doesn't hate you even if she doesn't share your point of view. And Wanda, you can work toward tursting that Tony has your best interests at heart, even if his actions don't always read that way.” She paused, looking at them each in turn. “Can you both agree that those things are true?”

“Yes,” Tony said, surprising himself with his quick response.

Wanda’s expression softened. “Yes." 

That was something. This wasn't going to be solved overnight, but at least they were both willing to work on this. To try.

“Does anyone else have anything they want to share?” Megan asked, glancing around the table at the rest of the team.

“You said we were coerced,” Sam said. “I wasn't. I chose to follow Steve.”

“I had to say that,” Tony started. “Laying all the blame on Steve was my best shot at getting everyone cleared.” 

“Yeah, but that doesn't mean I'm not responsible for my choice. I decided to help, Steve didn't make me.”

“He influenced your decision, though, just like he did mine. Just like I did Wanda’s." Clint let out a sigh. “I didn't realize before what that would look like. That it would be me choosing Cap over you. I am sorry about that, Tony.”

Tony nodded in acknowledgment, because he didn't have words to respond. He still didn't know how to deal with ‘I'm sorry.’ For so long he'd believed he didn't deserve it, even though he'd wanted to hear it so badly.

“My issue,” Rhodey said, crossing his arms, “is that I still don’t know whether you all picked your side because of the Accords, or because of Steve.”

“It was because of Steve,” Tony said softly. “Wasn’t it?”

“I never liked the Accords the way they were. And it was easier to just retire,” Clint said. “But… Cap asked for my help, and I gave it. That part was because of him.”

“I didn’t want to be controlled any more,” was Wanda’s answer.

“I’m not gonna insult you by lying,” Sam said. “Steve’s my friend. Whether or not he was right, I had his back.”

“But we should’ve all backed each other up.” Tony didn’t look at anyone after he’d said it. He stared at his hands, fingers drumming on the table.

“I tried to make it go both ways, remember?” Tony looked up, meeting Natasha's eyes. “I know I said we played it wrong, but I’m not sure there was a way to play it right.” 

“Together.  _Together_ would have been the way to play it right.”

_Still clinging to those words after so long?_

Steve hadn't even followed his own damn advice. He had criticized Tony for operating outside the team when he'd created Ultron, then Steve had gone and done the same damn thing rescuing Bucky. 

_Stop obsessing over it. You’re as much of a hypocrite as he is._  

“It seems like a large part of this was a lack of effective communication. I think our next step here should be to establish appropriate communication channels, ones you can use in times of stress and in times of relative normalcy.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” Rhodey said.

“What kind of ‘channels’ are we talking about?” Tony asked.

And, more importantly, would everyone agree to use them? It didn't mean anything if half of the team made an effort and the other half still kept secrets.

“I think it would be beneficial to develop a specific process for making team decisions. Maybe a forum like this, where each individual takes a turn saying their piece, and where everyone listens and is courteous to one another. Vision would probably be a good mediator in those cases. I also think weekly or bi-weekly meetings would make communicating easier, and would improve the health of the team as a whole.” Megan paused, looking around the room. “Do those things sound reasonable?” 

Tony nodded; so did everyone else. Finally, something they could all agree on.

“I know you all have evening plans, and I want to be respectful of your time. Does anyone have anything they'd like to add before we wrap this up?”

“I have a question." It was the first time Bruce had spoken since the beginning of the session. “Did you believe everything you said to the Council?”

“I'm actually not sure any more,” Tony replied.

_You’re lying._

But he wasn’t - not really. It was more like a half-truth, one he didn’t want to elaborate on because it was all too complicated. He hadn't stopped to think about whether or not he believed the things he'd said. It hadn't been relevant. It wouldn't have been helpful. He'd needed to _act_ completely committed, and evaluating his own feelings could've confused things, could've weakened his arguments.

No one asked him to explain himself further, and the meeting wound to a close as Megan excused herself to give them all time to get ready. Sam left first, followed by Clint, then Natasha, then Vision and Rhodey and Bruce, who were all embroiled in a conversation that Tony couldn’t quite make out.

“You coming, Stark?” Wanda asked from the doorway. He nodded and stood up, then paused halfway around the table, giving her a quizzical look. 

“You asked for that meeting. Didn't you?” 

“Yes.”

He wanted to ask why, but settled for something less invasive, saying, “Learn anything new, watching the video a second time?”

Wanda was silent for a beat, her gaze fixed on the wall behind him. “You should have let them indict me. Why didn't you?”

“Because you're a powerful ally." Tony paused. "Because I thought you deserved a second chance."

“I've done terrible things, Stark. To innocent people. To you. I shouldn't get any more chances.”

For a strange moment, Tony could've sworn it was Bucky standing in front of him. Bucky, who hadn't believed he deserved forgiveness, who had wanted to take responsibility for all his crimes. Maybe Wanda felt the same. Maybe she'd been upset that Tony had taken her punishment away from her.

“It’s your choice what you do with it,” Tony said with a shrug. “Fact is, I can't take it back. You have a second chance, whether you like it or not.”

“I hated you for it,” Wanda admitted softly. “I shouldn’t have. You have my best interests at heart. Right?”

Tony was surprised to see her look vulnerable.

“You bet." 

…

Tony had stopped by his room after the session, found his tux, then headed straight to Bucky’s to get ready. Since he so often spent the night with Bucky, most of his essentials had already migrated there, anyway.

How long had it been since he'd worn a tuxedo, or even a suit? How long had it been since he'd shown his face in front of the press? A few months, at least. But Tony wasn’t worried, at least not about himself. He knew how to turn it on when he was in public, when he knew he was being scrutinized. Sure, he’d fallen asleep in a board meeting or two, but when he was out ‘on the town,’ at a gala, a fundraiser, a public and publicized event, Tony Stark never let the mask drop.

It was Bucky he was concerned about. Specifically him and Bucky _together_. He wasn’t sure he was ready for that kind of attention, whether it was positive or negative. He didn’t want his relationship scrutinized, and he didn’t want Bucky put in any kind of uncomfortable position. On top of that, he had the company to consider. What would bringing his boyfriend to a gala mean for Stark Industries? He had scandalized shareholders before, and it wasn’t an experience he wanted to repeat. He tried not to let it bother him. When he’d texted Pepper about it, she’d been very clear that Tony was to bring Bucky as a date, and not to worry at all about the press. Tonight, he was just supposed to relax and enjoy himself.

_Easier said than done._

When Tony got to Bucky’s room, the door was already ajar. He stepped inside and saw lights on in the bathroom, heard the sound of the electric razor. He laid his tux out on the bed and closed the door behind him. 

“How’d it go?” Bucky called as Tony stripped down to his underwear.

“It was productive,” Tony said, putting on the tuxedo shirt and buttoning it up. “I don't understand why you didn't go, though. You're technically part of the team, too.”

“I’m not goin’ on combat missions, least not for a while. Seems silly to have a say when I'm not participatin’ like the rest of you.” 

Tony didn’t respond, checking his work in the mirror. No buttons out of place. He had the bow tie done in a flash; it was a reflex now, even if it had been months since his last public appearance.

“Might wanna put on some pants, doll,” Bucky said as he stepped out of the bathroom, just visible in Tony’s periphery.

“I'm getting there, don't tease me.”

Tony took his tuxedo pants off the hanger and pulled them on. They were still a little loose, but they looked better than they would have a few weeks ago, thanks to that overeager nutritionist of his. He tucked the shirt in and zipped up, examining his reflection again.

He couldn’t be objective about himself any more. He'd realized that after only a few sessions with Megan. Some days he looked in the mirror and saw the person he wanted to be. Some days he saw the person he had been. Some days he saw his _father_ , and that was truly terrifying. But his beard was clean, his hair was well managed, and he didn’t look like a zombie any more. For now, that would have to do.

“Here." Bucky was suddenly behind him with the tuxedo jacket in hand. “Let me.” Bucky held out one arm, then the other. Tony slipped it on, rolled his shoulders, and adjusted the lapels before Bucky distracted him with teeth grazing his ear.

“Buck. I _just_ put this on.”

“So?” Bucky whispered. “We got time. ’Sides, you can leave the jacket.”

Tony swallowed. That conjured up a very vivid image of Bucky on his knees in front of him, and he tried not to let the resulting arousal read on his face.

“I take it seeing me all dressed up is a turn-on for you, huh?”

He spun around to look at Bucky, and whatever he'd planned to say next disappeared from his mind. He became utterly distracted, because _damn_. Bucky looked incredible.

Tony had seen pictures of Bucky in his military uniform, but this was something else entirely. The white tux was perfectly fitted, hugging every line and curve of Bucky’s body. It was sinful how badly Tony wanted to just tear the thing off of him.

“Holy shit, you clean up nice." 

“Glad you like it." Bucky's eyes were dark, and he took a step closer, crowding Tony up against the wall.

“FRIDAY, when will the car be here?” Tony asked, because Bucky could go from zero to sixty in the blink of an eye, and he didn’t want to get caught up and run the risk of being unforgivably late.

“In five minutes, boss.”

Bucky let out a frustrated breath and backed away. Tony gave him an apologetic look.

“Let's go." Tony took Bucky’s hand and pulled him gently toward the door.

“Promise me I get to take that off you later,” Bucky breathed in his ear as they made their way to the elevator.

“I promise,” Tony said, resisting the urge to pull him into a desperate kiss.

… 

The car ride consisted of Tony alternately making out with Bucky and checking his phone to see if it would give him any kind of hint as to what this ‘event’ was really about.

He'd looked for everything. Stark Industries, evening events in New York, gala, black tie, Pepper Potts speech. He obviously didn't have any of the correct keywords, and FRIDAY hadn't been able to find anything either, which he thought was a little strange. Thankfully, Bucky was there to distract him, although Tony had cautioned that there would be no hair pulling, which had resulted in him having to explain that yes, he was serious, and no, if Bucky messed it up, he wouldn't be able to fix it. 

Tony had found out from Pepper the night before that all of the Avengers had been invited to whatever this was. They’d taken separate cars, and as they pulled up to the curb, Tony could tell by the line of black sedans that he and Bucky were the last ones of the group to arrive. The driver opened the door on the right side to let Bucky out first - as Tony slid toward the door, Bucky held out his hand to help him out. 

“Very chivalrous,” Tony said, and Bucky smiled. “Now. That way, I assume?”

He saw lights lining the sidewalk leading up to a building made mostly of glass, with sweeping, asymmetrical stripes of white concrete over the outside. It looked a little like trees growing up from the sides of the building; like a sand drawing of a forest lit from behind. It was simple and beautiful, standing out in sharp contrast to the black sky. It was maybe six stories high, and it was the only building on the block embracing the modern architecture vibe.

Tony noticed the lettering above the door before he could make out what it said. Then, when he was close enough to read it, he wasn't sure he was fully comprehending what he saw. 

“Buck. Does that… Am I reading that right?”

When Bucky didn't answer, he looked again. He wasn't misreading them. The words were there, plain as day, spelled out in large, illuminated letters.

_The Maria Stark Charitable Foundation._

Tony was speechless. 

What was this? Who was responsible for it? How had he not known about it? And what was he supposed to do? He didn’t know how to respond to something like this. People had tried to surprise him before, with varying degrees of success, but never with anything this… big. 

_How?_

“You okay, doll?”

Tony nodded dumbly. “Yeah,” he said on a whisper. “Yeah, I just… What is this?”

“It’s a gift,” Pepper said as she walked toward them. “Hi, Tony.”

“Hey,” Tony said weakly.

Pepper kissed his cheek, then extended her hand to Bucky. “Pleasure to officially meet you, Mr. Barnes." 

“Likewise."

“So - are you ready to come inside?”

Tony didn’t know whether to say yes or no, because he hadn’t even begun to process this. A charity? Their ‘surprise’ was that they - whoever they were - had started a nonprofit organization? He’d thought about starting a nonprofit, something more impressive and important than the Stark Relief Foundation, which he’d created for the sole purpose of cleaning up the messes the Avengers caused. But he hadn’t had the time. Between Bucky’s conditioning, the trial, his revisions, and his innumerable personal problems, it had just never happened. Clearly it didn’t matter, because someone had done it for him.

_You named it after my Mom._

The thought kept spinning, a broken record repeating the same stanza over and over in his head. 

“Tony?”

“Who did this?” Tony asked her, only half present in the conversation.

“It was a collaborative effort. All of the Avengers were involved.”

Tony blinked, eyes still fixed above the door. “And there's more inside?”

That was a stupid question if he'd ever heard one, but it was the only thing he could think to ask. 

“A lot more." 

“C’mon.” Bucky tugged gently at his arm. “Let's go take a look.”

“Yeah,” Tony said, finally tearing his gaze away. “Yeah, okay.”

…

_What the hell._

It was the only thought Tony could hold onto as Pepper lead them through the doors, through the foyer, into the expansive presentation room.

On the surface it looked like your run of the mill black tie gala. A few hundred people dressed in suits and evening gowns. Servers passing through with trays of drinks and hors d’oeuvres. A full service bar. A stage set up with a podium at the far end of the room.

There were pieces of it, though, that made it different. It felt almost like a museum. There were concept drawings on the walls - some of them were designs he’d seen from SI engineers, and some of them were his, including the initial sketch of his prosthetic design. How had they gotten ahold of that? A mission statement was projected onto the floor in the foyer, and Tony was surprised he hadn’t noticed it until just now. From the ceiling, they had suspended a sculpture of a strand of DNA, the double helix chopped up into small pieces like mosaic tiles, each piece hanging from its own nearly invisible wire. 

It was beautiful. The building, the art, the decorations. It was all so far beyond his wildest expectations. He glanced at the building map displayed in the entryway - research and development upstairs, offices on the lower level, a department dedicated to advertising and outreach. These weren’t just the bones of something being built. This was already a fully functional facility. How long had they been planning this? And how the hell had they known it would mean so much to him?

He must’ve said hello to a dozen people without even realizing he’d done it. He shook Rhodey’s hand, greeted Vision and Wanda, and the rest was a blur of faces and photo ops. Tony didn’t realize it had already been an hour until he felt Bucky take his hand.

“Hey. C’mon, Pepper’s gonna give her speech.”

“Right." Tony follow him toward the stage. A server walked by and took Tony’s drink - had he had a drink this whole time? - then handed him a new one. Tony accepted it reflexively, watching as Pepper stepped up to the microphone.

“Good evening, and thank you so much for coming. My name is Pepper Potts, and I’m the CEO of Stark Industries. I’ve been asked to give a statement about this burgeoning new Nonprofit Organization, the Maria Stark Charitable Foundation. This foundation will fill in the gaps that Stark Industries has never been able to fill, using SI research and technological advances in order to benefit those less fortunate. Like its namesake, the foundation will be the better of two Stark halves, encouraging invention and seeking to drive it in a positive direction.

“Thanks to the hard work and dedication of many of the individuals here this evening, The Maria Stark Charitable Foundation has become much more than just an idea. This building, newly refurbished, will serve as headquarters for the foundation. We also have plans to expand to satellite properties, including a hospital dedicated in part to amputation treatment and rehabilitation. We will be partnering with Limbs for Life to advance research on limb loss and create affordable, functional prosthetics. We have also partnered with the Amputee Coalition and will contribute to their efforts to increase education, support, and advocacy surrounding limb loss.

“While supporting amputees is not the foundation’s only mission, it will be the primary focus in this inaugural year. As we move forward together, we hope to expand our scope to include veterans and victims of war violence. We thank you so much for your generous contributions and your attendance here tonight. We hope you enjoy the rest of the evening.”

Tony barely heard the applause over the rushing in his ears. Not only had they started a charity - they’d geared it toward amputees. They’d made it about his mother, whose death had continued to haunt him for so long, _and_ about Bucky, who had quickly become one of the most important people in his life. It was such an inversion of his expectations. Someone, or in this case several someones, had taken the things he loved and instead of using them against him, they’d used them to make him happy. That’s what this was supposed to do, right? Make him happy?

“Were you involved in this?” Tony asked Bucky as the noise died down. Bucky didn’t get the chance to respond, because once she had stepped down from the stage, Pepper made a bee-line for them, looking at Tony expectantly.

“So? What do you think?” She grinned. “Was this a good surprise?”

“Yeah." Tony knew his face must be a wash of emotions, because he was feeling happy and baffled and confused and touched and overwhelmed all at the same time. “Better of two Stark halves, huh?” 

“I thought you'd like that."

“I still don’t understand how you all did this.”

“That’s part of the magic, Tony." Pepper put her hands on his shoulders and squeezed. “Don’t think about it too hard. Just enjoy it, okay?”

He set his jaw and nodded. He couldn’t think about it too hard, anyway. He was still too stunned. He kept expecting the novelty to wear off, but it hadn’t yet.

Tony ducked away as several reporters made their way toward Pepper to get additional statements. He didn’t want to get caught up in that. He might’ve easily said something stupid, because his thoughts weren’t following any sensible pattern. Bucky made to follow him, but when he was approached and asked to show off his prosthetic - Tony had warned him that was a possibility anyway, so at least he wasn’t totally unprepared - Bucky gave him a look that said ‘you go ahead, I’ll catch up.’

Tony moved away from the crowd toward the front window, and he found himself staring outside, sipping slowly at his drink, finally finding a quiet moment to digest all this. He still had so many questions. _Whose idea was this? What part am I supposed to play? How long did it take to move this from idea to reality? Whose money did you use to get it started?_

That was probably the biggest mystery. He wasn’t the CEO of Stark Industries any more, but he still saw the money, he knew where it went. This wasn’t funded by SI. And it wasn’t funded by any of his personal holdings, either. How the hell had they found the capital to refurbish a building like this? How had they established enough of a nest egg to make such ambitious plans?

“Pretty good party,” Natasha said, stepping up beside him. She really did have a talent for appearing out of nowhere.

“Yeah, it’s okay.” Tony shrugged nonchalantly, then laughed and shook his head. What a ridiculous thing to say. This was so much more than a ‘good party.’ It was too much. He didn’t deserve it, and yet, here it was. “You didn't have to do this.”

Natasha looked around and moved closer, like she wanted to make sure no one else overheard. “We didn't. Steve did.”

Tony’s heart dropped into his stomach. He tried not to react, but he felt his eyebrows climb and his pulse spike. “I thought it was a collaborative effort,” Tony managed.

“Well, you would, because that's what he told us to say.” She smiled, a small quirk of her lips that was gone almost as quickly as it had appeared. “It's not true, though. With the exception of a couple small things, Steve did all of it.”

Tony followed Natasha’s gaze and saw Steve at the bar, staring into his drink. He’d caught glimpses of Steve throughout the evening, but nothing more. Had that been purposeful? Did Steve still not want to see him? Had he been worried about giving himself away?

“He made us promise to keep it a secret."

_Of course he did._

“So why are you telling me?”

Natasha placed her drink on a passing tray, then said in a low voice, “If it were me, I'd want to know.”

...

Tony watched Steve covertly for the rest of the evening, trying not to let Natasha’s revelation change anything, even though he knew it already had. Steve was doing a good job pretending to be a casual participant. There was only one moment, when Pepper interrupted a conversation, where he let the facade slip. They were clearly talking business. Maybe Pepper was asking him about the speech, or maybe it was to do with reporters and statements. Whatever it was, he knew that face. It was the ‘I'm responsible for this and I need to choose the right thing to say’ face, which Tony was very personally familiar with.

Steve gave Pepper whatever answer she was looking for, and once she walked away, the veil was drawn again.

_All of it._ What did that mean, all of it? Did that just mean Steve had filed the original paperwork? Or did it really mean _all of it_ \- choosing the building, filling out tax forms, hiring employees, selecting artwork, looking at paint samples, listening to design pitches, looping in the appropriate related charities, writing the mission statement, contacting donors, inviting the press, picking the name. The list went on and on. Tony knew how hard it was, starting a nonprofit organization. It involved a lot of practical and tedious work, not to mention mountains of paperwork, too. 

Had Steve done all that? It would explain his conspicuous absence from the compound. And what kind of timeline had he been on? Had he started work on this months ago, or…

_You didn’t._

Had Steve started all of this after their argument? After Tony had said there wasn’t enough of him left? That wasn’t possible. Steve couldn’t have done all this in just over a month. And if he had, the term ‘Superhero’ fell laughably short. Why the hell would he do something like this?

_You said you gave too much. This must be his stupid way of trying to give it all back._

Steve caught his eye from across the room, and Tony tried to pretend he hadn't been staring. Tony wondered if Steve could see the wheels turning in his head. Impulsively, he made his way over to the bar, stopping a few feet away.

“Drinking alone, huh? Does that stuff even do anything?”

Steve smiled, setting his glass down. “Not really. Just a little buzz, if I’m lucky.”

“Bummer. So there _are_ drawbacks to the whole Super Soldier thing.”

“A few.” Steve looked him up and down, making Tony feel oddly nervous. “It’s good to see you, Tony.”

“I’ve been trying to call you,” Tony said in answer. Steve could’ve seen him a lot sooner if he’d just picked up the phone.

“I know.” Steve looked away. “I’m sorry. I’ve been trying to give you space.”

“That’s… smart. I was in a bad spot for a while.”

“How are you now?” Steve asked, blonde eyebrows drawing into a frown. He seemed unsure, like he didn’t know if he was allowed to ask the question. “You seem better. Are things better?”

“Yeah,” Tony replied with a nod. “Yeah, I’m good. Great, actually.”

“Good.”

Tony scrutinized Steve’s face and noticed how his worry lines had deepened, how there were dark circles underneath his eyes. He looked tired, like he'd run himself ragged doing something kind for someone else. 

_That's a dangerous game, Cap. I hope you didn't play it like I did._

“How are _you_?” Tony asked seriously.

“I'm fine." 

“People who say that rarely are,” Tony quipped.

“Yeah, I know.”

“Steve,” Tony said, taking a step closer. He put a hand on Steve's arm, and Steve wasn’t successful in concealing his surprise. “I know our last conversation didn’t end well. But-”

Tony stopped in his tracks when he saw Bucky out of the corner of his eye. He was just a few yards away, staring at them, his eyes locked on the spot where Tony and Steve were touching. Tony drew his hand away as if he’d been burned, but the look on Bucky’s face didn’t change. That was jealousy if Tony had ever seen it.

_Not okay, then._

“Hi,” Tony said as Bucky approached them. This wasn't the time or place for them to talk, so he kept his expression neutral.

“Hey." Bucky looked at each of them in turn before refocusing on Tony. “The car’s outside. You ready?”

_If you ask to stay, you’ll just hurt him more._

That was frustrating. Tony was hurt, too, hurt that his partner hadn’t been honest. There was no way around it. They needed to talk, and to do that, they needed to leave. Whatever he’d been about to say to Steve - probably something about making amends, although he couldn't quite remember any more - he’d have to save it for another day.

“Sorry, Steve, I've gotta go. I'll call you."

“Goodnight, Tony. Buck.”

Steve smiled at them, which was courteous of him considering Bucky was interrupting their conversation and dragging Tony away in the middle of it. Part of Tony felt guilty for that, but another part was too irritated to care, because Bucky had lied to him, and wasn't that a great way to put a damper on the evening.

Bucky took Tony’s hand and guided them toward the door. Tony set his teeth, vowing to keep his mouth shut until they got back to the compound, because he hated having arguments in moving vehicles. There was nowhere to escape to if things went south.

_Just keep your cool until you get home, Stark._

He made his excuses to Pepper, asking her to thank everyone for him, then trailed Bucky to the car.

...

It felt like the drive took hours, hours of asking himself why Bucky had lied, wondering what Bucky was thinking, wishing he knew how Bucky really felt without having to guess.

When they finally got to Bucky’s room and closed the door, Tony slipped out of his coat and undid his bow tie, letting both fall to the floor.

“You lied,” Tony accused, unable to stand the silence any more. There was no malice in it, but he couldn’t keep from sounding angry. “You said it would be okay, and it clearly wasn’t. You lied.”

“What do you want me to say?” Bucky already sounded defeated. He knew he was caught - he'd probably known it since the second Tony had seen that look on his face. “That I'm sorry?”

“Are you?”

“Yes.” 

For some reason that made Tony furious. Bucky being sorry didn’t do either of them any good.

“You should have been honest with me.” Tony had _known_ there was a reason that conversation all those weeks ago had made him uncomfortable. It was because Bucky had been hiding something. “Did you mean anything you said that night, when you brought up Steve? Was any part of that true?” 

“Yes.”

“You have _got_ to start giving me more than one word answers here, Buck.”

“I’m tryin’.”

“Try harder,” Tony growled. “If my unresolved shit with Steve was a problem, why did you let me believe it wasn’t? Why did you make it seem like everything was fine?”

“It was botherin’ you. I didn’t want you to be worried about it any more. And I kept thinkin’... you’d never be happy without him.” 

“I never said that,” Tony hissed. “I never said anything about not being happy. The only time I ever brought up Steve was when I told you _everything_ , and that’s because I didn’t want to lie any more, I didn’t want to hide anything from you.”

Damn it, that stung, because if Tony could reveal the things that had torn him up inside, why couldn’t Bucky do the same? Tears of anger and frustration welled up in his eyes, and he gritted his teeth against them, shaking his head.

“You were the one who was trying to force Steve on us-” 

“I wasn't forcin’ anything-”

_“Why?_ Why would you even for a second let me think that would be okay, if it wasn't?”

Bucky looked away, fists clenched, working hard to keep himself composed. Tension crackled loudly in the silence that followed.

“Steve's… perfect,” Bucky said finally, his voice soft. “He's a better person than me. If it came down to me and him, you would’a picked him.”

Tony’s mouth fell open.

That was ridiculous. Bucky was the best person he'd ever known, the _only_ person who'd ever accepted him for who he was, who loved every terrible, unworthy piece of him. Not even Captain America could make Tony forget that. It was a debt he could never repay, a gift Tony couldn’t have imagined and couldn’t live without.

“You’re wrong. I wouldn’t pick him. And he’s not better than you.”

“He is,” Bucky said. “As many people as he’s saved, I’ve killed. Includin’ your parents.”

“Don’t do that, don’t turn that around on me. I told you, I forgive you for that.”

“Doesn’t erase it! And look. Look at what he did for you. He made you somethin’ beautiful, how could I ever measure up?”

Tony shook his head, confused. What _Steve_ had done for him? Wasn’t Tony still supposed to think it was a gift from everyone?

Realization drained the color from Tony’s face.

“You knew about this. The foundation. He told you about it, and you kept it a secret from me.” Bucky didn’t respond, didn’t disagree. Damn it, why wouldn’t Bucky _talk to him?_ “Am I wrong?”

“No.”

“Shit.” Tony turned away, starting to pace. “Shit. Bucky. How long did you sit with this? How long did you let this… When? When did you know, how long?”

“A month." Bucky looked guiltily away.

“So when you suggested inviting Steve into this, into our relationship. It was because you knew, and you thought his ‘big gesture’ was going to change everything?”

“Yes.” 

“Bucky, you _have_ to say more than that.” Bucky's mournful eyes broke Tony’s heart. “I said I didn’t want you to feel like you weren’t enough for me. And you said you didn’t. You lied. You lied right to my face.”

“I know.”

“Why? Why did you do that?” Tony demanded.

“I was scared of losin’ you,” Bucky choked, his voice broken. “Sharin’ you with Steve, I could do. I didn’t lie about that - it’d be okay. I could make that work. But losin’ you… I couldn’t. I can’t. I’d break.”

Bucky looked destroyed, like his worst fears had already been realized and the pain had cleaved him in two. Tony couldn’t handle it, couldn’t take the way that Bucky looked so small.

_Enough._

Tony reached out and grabbed Bucky’s chin, forcing Bucky to meet his eyes. “You listen to me, James Buchanan Barnes. You are not, nor will you ever be, my second choice. You are _beautiful_. You may not feel perfect, but you are. And if you think I would _ever_ let you get away, you’re damn wrong.”

Bucky shook his head as if to argue, and Tony silenced him with a kiss so forceful it pushed Bucky all the way back into the wall.

It was nothing like any kiss with Bucky had ever been. Bucky submitted to him, ceding control, his body melting into Tony's touch. Tony moved one firm hand to Bucky’s neck, the other sliding into his hair and gripping as tightly as he could. He kissed Bucky hard enough to bruise, Bucky's mouth open and pliant, Tony’s tongue unyielding.

“Tony,” Bucky gasped, pulling away. “I'm sorry.”

“No,” Tony insisted roughly, his hands moving to cup Bucky's face. “Don't you dare be sorry.”

_This was on me. This was my fault. I didn't realize._  

“But-” 

“Stop,” Tony ordered, and Bucky obeyed, his eyes wide. Tony’s mouth went dry, and he suddenly forgot how to breathe - but it didn’t matter. He had to get this out. “I’m not always good at sharing my feelings. But you are my whole world. And I will say it as many times as you need to hear it until you believe me.”

Bucky stared at him for a long time before he whispered, “Say it again.”

“You,” Tony said, pressing his forehead against Bucky’s, “are my whole world.”

Bucky leaned into Tony, and Tony felt him tremble, swallowing at the way blue eyes grew cloudy and dark.

“Remember what I said?” Bucky asked, his voice a low rumble. “About stimulus?”

Tony nodded, frowning. He had thought it was just physical input that was overwhelming - he hadn’t realized that intense emotions could be a trigger, too.

“You don't need to hold back for me,” Tony insisted, not moving his hands.

“But… ’m worried I might hurt you.”

“You won’t." 

“Need to be sure,” Bucky replied. 

“Okay. What do you need?”

“Safeword." 

“Oh. Shit. Okay, um…” Tony racked his brain, trying to think of something, but his mind spun out on the idea of what Bucky might do to him that would require a safeword in the first place. He  was seized with a desperate desire to see the Soldier with no holds barred, no inhibitions.

“Can we just use colors?” Tony asked, because that made the most sense to him. “Green for good, yellow for that’s pushing it, red for stop?”

“Yeah. Colors are good.”

“Okay. But that goes both ways. I ask you for your color and you have to tell me.” Bucky nodded. “Buck. I trust you.”

Those words were Bucky's undoing, and in an instant Bucky had reversed their positions, pressing Tony into the wall and pinning his hands above his head, the grip punishingly tight.

“Can I - if I restrain you-”

“I'm fine with that,” Tony gasped. “Just no water.”

Bucky nodded, and then his mouth was on Tony’s, hard and hot and insistent. Tony couldn't breathe and didn't care, the heady mix of pain and pleasure from the metal hand around his wrists making him dizzy. He felt nimble fingers undoing his buttons before Bucky’s nails scraped, unforgiving, down his chest.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Tony moaned when Bucky releasing his arms. Tony watched the rise and fall of Bucky's chest, felt his own heart race at the hard look in Bucky's eyes. 

“Bed,” Bucky ordered, and his voice left no room for argument.

...

Tony was surprised, when he woke up, that he didn't have more bruises.

He was alone, which was unusual. FRIDAY told him that Bucky had gone to the gym, and Tony wondered if it was because he was embarrassed about losing control, even if it had been in a safe space. Tony could’ve told him he had nothing to be embarrassed about. It had been good, so good that Tony didn't think he'd ever be satisfied with anything less. Bucky had given him everything, and everything included some Hydra leftovers that were just on the right side of violent.

Things had gotten so intense that there were parts Tony didn't remember. He recalled Bucky pushing him down onto the bed; the Soldier’s hand closed around his throat; his forearm holding Tony's hips down. Everything else had been a blur of _fuck_ and _yes_ and _please_.

Tony sat up in bed and rubbed his eyes, thinking back, trying to remember what had happened before Bucky had turned him inside out. The foundation. Bucky’s lie. Steve, working too hard to make Tony happy. Everything he'd forgotten in the heat of the moment came flooding back, and he wished just briefly that it hadn't.

_What a mess_ , he thought. He desperately needed a cup of coffee.

Tony stumbled into the shower, got dressed, and headed down to the workshop, not quite up to running into anyone in the kitchen.

“Dum-E, be a dear and make me some coffee, will you?” The bot set to work, and Tony paced the room as he waited, picking up a screwdriver and spinning it in his hand.

What was he going to do? Did he want to talk to Steve? He didn't have to. He could let Steve think he didn't know. He could let the charade play out indefinitely, pretending the whole team had done what Steve had taken on alone.

But the thing was, he _did_ want to talk to Steve. He was ready. Ready to have the conversation. Maybe even ready to forgive him.

_You’re stupid and gullible. You did just what Bucky thought you would - you let this gesture change your mind._

Bucky knew him well. Too well, apparently. He made a frustrated noise, tapping the end of the screwdriver on his palm. Maybe this wasn’t as complicated as he was making it out to be. Just because he talked to Steve, didn’t have to mean he was interested in Steve, right?

_Except you are. That’s what started all this in the first place. Bucky saw it even better than you did._

The sound of the coffee burbling interrupted his thoughts, and he dropped the screwdriver on the table and went to pour himself a cup. He sipped at it slowly, sighing in relief. The caffeine gave him the clarity he craved, even if it wasn't the answer that he wanted.

_You know you need to talk to Steve. You won't feel right until you do._

Well, if he was going to do it, he might as well get it over with. He downed the rest of his coffee, set his mug down on the table, and called the mark 100.

...

Tony stood in front of the building for a few minutes, staring at the letters above the door. They didn't shine quite as brightly in the daylight, but they were striking all the same.

_The Maria Stark Charitable Foundation_.

Steve hadn’t named it after Tony’s mother by accident. It was meant to be an apology, Tony was sure. For Siberia. For withholding the truth. For not being there for Tony when it had mattered. _Pretty big apology_ , he thought. That wasn’t surprising, though. Steve Rogers wasn’t one to half-ass anything.

It really was amazing. This was more than anything he could have conceived on his own, a physical representation of what Tony had wanted his legacy to be ever since he’d escaped Afghanistan alive.

_Don’t waste your life._ The words echoed in his head, and Tony couldn’t believe he’d ever forgotten them. The foundation could be the answer to Yinsen’s last request. It would live beyond Tony, doing good for other people after he was gone. And in the meantime, he could pour all of his energy into it. With this, Tony could give and give without compromising himself in the process. Tony still wasn’t sure that he deserved it.

_Doesn’t matter. You have it, either way._

When Tony finally strode inside, it took him a few minutes to find Steve. First he'd had to fight with the receptionist, insisting that he knew Steve was there, although he appreciated her commitment to pretending Steve wasn't involved. Then he'd had to wait for her to call various offices trying to track Steve down.

Eventually Tony was directed to a conference room upstairs, and he watched through the glass for a moment before opening the door and stepping inside. Steve stood over what looked like blueprints, and there were a number of people crowded around him, raising hands and interjecting. Nobody noticed when Tony entered, and he hung back near the door, observing.

“Yes, good, get that to research and development,” Steve said, and a woman nodded and brushed past Tony on her way out. Someone handed Steve a phone, and he held it up to his ear. “Yes. No, the CEO of Stark Industries has already given a statement, I don't have anything further to add.” Steve passed the phone back and refocused on the papers in front of him. “Sorry about that. So. We want to figure out a good location for the hospital. I know we discussed one of the Stark holdings downtown, but there's not quite enough space there for the scope of what I'm interested in. Does anybody have any suggestions?”

“Buy the building across the street,” Tony said. Steve looked up, surprised. “Put a sky-bridge between the two. Sky-bridges are cool.”

Steve smiled before he caught himself and schooled his expression into something more professional. He cleared his throat.

“That's a good idea,” Steve said. “Hey, guys, give me just a minute, I’ve got to, uh.” He didn't finish his sentence, but walked over to Tony and guided him out the door and into the hall. They walked in silence until they reached a panel of windows at the end of the corridor, overlooking the city.

“So. Somebody told you.”

“Yeah.” Tony fixed his gaze on the sidewalk below, trying not to look at Steve. “Big gestures like this have a way of getting out.”

“Can't blame a guy for trying.”

“No, I guess I can’t.” Especially not when he'd done the same thing himself. Tony paused, mulling over his next question. “Why’d you do it?”

“Why did I make it? Or why did I hide it?”

“Both.”

Steve took in a breath and held it before letting it out on a sigh. “I wanted you to have something for _you_. Something selfless, inspired by you, costing you nothing and giving you everything.”

Steve had definitely practiced that line. It sounded too perfect to be off the cuff. 

_Not like you’ve never done the same thing._

That meant Steve had actually thought about it, though. He’d seriously considered what this was, and what it was supposed to mean.

“Why didn't you want me to know? And don’t say because you were copying me, I know imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, but that’s not an acceptable answer.”

“Guess I don’t have an answer, then." The corners of Steve's eyes crinkled in a smile. Tony looked harder and saw it for what it really was - an evasion.

“Come on, Cap. I know you and I haven’t exactly figured this out yet, but… you used to be able to tell me the truth.” 

Steve turned to look out the window. “I didn't want you to appreciate it any less because it came from me.” 

_He knew seeing his name attached to something like this would make you question it. Sound familiar?_

If Tony was honest with himself, he probably would've been wary, seeing Steve's name connected with this from the beginning. He would've wondered if it was just a ploy, or if it was for real.

“That was smart.”

“You thought of it first,” Steve replied.

“Hey. What did I say about flattery?”

“Does it count as flattery if it's true?”

Tony rolled his eyes, but decided not to press that any further. “Thank you. It's… Too much. But you'd probably argue with me about that, so. Thank you.”

“I don’t need you to thank me, Tony.”

“This isn’t about you. This is about me, remember?” Tony teased.

“Yeah, yeah." Steve didn't quite manage to look annoyed. “You’re right.”

“I have literally waited _years_ to hear you say those words.” 

Tony was mostly joking - it was supposed to be funny - but it struck a chord, and he saw Steve’s face fall.

“I tried to talk to you before."

Somewhere in his back-brain Tony knew that Steve was just trying to explain himself, but it sounded too much like blame, like defense. Tony bristled.

“I wasn’t ready before.” Tony shook his head in frustration. They couldn’t keep going around in circles like this. “I am _so_ stuck in this pattern of resenting you. Did we fight this much when we were actually friends?”

“I don’t remember." 

_I do,_ Tony thought. _We stopped fighting. Or we had. Until the Accords ruined everything._

“Look, Cap. You wanna talk? This is your opportunity. I came here because I saw your gesture, I heard you. I'm willing to believe for one stupid second that maybe we can salvage this. So don't blow it.”

Steve's face grew serious, and he nodded. “I have an office downstairs."

“That’ll work,” Tony replied, following Steve down the hall.

…

Unlike the rest of the building, the walls around Steve’s office were frosted glass, just clear enough to let the light in but otherwise opaque. Tony was thankful for that. He didn't want anyone watching their conversation, especially because he didn't have any idea how he might react to what Steve had to say.

_Whatever it is, it’s about time you heard it. You need to settle this. It’ll be okay._

Somehow the thought didn't make him feel less anxious. Would he and Steve argue again? Was this fated to end in disaster just like the last time he and Steve had tried to ‘talk?’

Steve pulled the door closed behind them and locked it, and Tony looked at him expectantly.

“So. Do you want to start? Or should I?”

“Whatever you want,” Steve replied.

Tony paused to think. Did he have anything to say? Off the top of his head… No. When he'd said he was ready to talk, maybe he'd really meant he was ready to listen.

“You start,” Tony said.

And then Steve did something Tony didn't understand. He walked toward Tony, stopping when they were maybe five feet apart, and _got down on his knees_. 

Tony stared, dumbfounded, his brow creased in a deep frown.

“What're you doing?”

“Isn't this how people do it?”

“Do _what_?”

“Beg for forgiveness.”

Tony stopped breathing. This wasn't real. This couldn't be real. “Steve. Get up.”

Steve shook his head, his jaw set, his eyes somehow determined and pleading at the same time. “Please, forgive me.”

Tony fought the impulse to give in immediately. He couldn't, he wouldn't. He was stronger than that. Right?

“This is ridiculous,” Tony breathed. Steve didn't falter.

“It's not. This is exactly where I should be. This is what I always should've been doing. I'm just sorry it took me so long.”

Tony was drowning in Steve’s eyes, plunging headfirst into an ocean of blue that somehow had him abandoning his resentment, the tide sweeping him up and carrying him away. He hadn't expected this. When Rhodey had told him Steve should grovel at his feet, he'd never imagined Steve would actually do it. 

Tony blinked. He wasn't going to cry. Just because this was what he'd wanted from Steve all along, didn't mean it was going to make him fall apart. “Steve, please.”

“I'm so sorry, Tony,” Steve pressed, and the sincerity behind the words was blinding. “I can't say it enough. I'm sorry I hurt you. I'm sorry I lied to you. I'm sorry I broke up the team. I’m _so_ sorry for all of it.”

“ _Fuck_.” Tony turned away, ran a hand through his hair, pressed his hands to his face. That was just too much; it was too open, too honest. He felt like his heart was going to burst. What right did Steve have, making him feel like that? He took a deep breath and felt himself tremble on the exhale.

“Tony.”

Tony heard the words ‘look at me’ as clearly as if Steve had said them aloud.

“Yes,” Tony said in a hoarse whisper, turning slowly to face him. “Yes, okay? Yes, I forgive you.”

The naked hope on Steve’s face overwhelmed him. 

“You were right." Steve made no move to get up off the floor. “I should've listened to you.”

_You should’ve,_ Tony thought. _You absolutely should’ve trusted me from the beginning._ Steve had been stupid not to put the team first. He had hurt Tony, made him feel worthless, made him unsure about whether or not he'd done the right thing.

“You're damn right,” was all Tony could get past the lump in his throat.

“You revised the Accords for me. I didn't deserve it.”

“No, you didn't.”

“I'm sorry,” Steve said again, and the words ripped Tony open.

“Stop,” Tony croaked, his voice betraying him. “Steve, please. I can’t… Just, please, get up.”

Steve obeyed, getting slowly to his feet, his eyes dark with concern. “Tony-”

“It's just a lot to process,” Tony interrupted, stopping Steve from asking if he was okay because at this point, he really wasn’t sure. He tried to calm himself, to count his breaths in and out. “It feels like this is just a dream and I might wake up any second.”

“I promise, it's not a dream.” Steve put his hands on Tony's arms to prove it, squeezing gently but otherwise keeping his distance.

“Okay,” Tony said, not totally convinced.

“Do you need space? I can-”

“No." There had been enough space between him and Steve Rogers to last a lifetime. Then, before he could stop himself from saying it: “I missed you.”

It was the one thing Tony had never admitted to himself, even when his therapy had started to clear the haze. He'd never let himself feel how much he'd missed having Steve in his life. How could he, when he hadn't known whether or not things with Steve would ever be resolved?

“I missed you too, Tony.”

Tony’s chest tightened, and he felt like he might unravel at the seams. He needed something, something more than this. He felt like he was falling, like he had nothing to anchor him, nothing to hold onto. “Steve.”

Tony couldn't verbalize it, couldn’t say anything other than his name - but somehow Steve understood, and when he drew Tony forward, Tony fell willingly into the embrace.

Tony wrapped one arm around Steve’s neck, the other resting on Steve’s shoulder. He grasped handfuls of Steve’s shirt, gripping tightly, as if he was the only thing holding Tony together. Steve, who was supposedly made of muscle, was _soft_ , and warm, and Tony found himself crumbling, burying his face in Steve’s chest, closing his eyes and breathing him in. One of Steve's hands rested so lightly on the back of Tony's head that it was barely there, a whisper of contact that made something inside him sing.

Since Siberia, Tony had known all too well what it was like to want comfort from the same person who had caused the pain in the first place. Now he finally knew what it was like to _get_ it. It was a bittersweet contradiction, and it felt perfect, like the last pieces of a long-abandoned puzzle finally put in place. He memorized it, memorized Steve's arms around him, Steve's cheek pressed into his hair. It felt too important to ever let himself forget.

Steve held him for what felt like an eternity, and Tony let him, never relaxing his hold on Steve’s shirt. Steve had finally apologized. Tony had finally forgiven him. Tony didn’t have to pretend he didn’t care any more. And that was a good thing, because clinging to Steve the way he was, his feelings must’ve been painfully obvious.

_I really missed you, you big dumb idiot._

He wasn't sure who pulled away first. Maybe they both started moving at the same time, Tony gradually releasing his grip, Steve opening his arms and stepping back.

“Was that okay?” Steve asked. He looked worried, like he thought he’d overstepped. Had he really been so wrapped up that he hadn’t felt Tony reciprocate?

“Yeah." Tony closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Steve’s scent still filled his nostrils, and he felt electrified, his body begging him to move back into Steve's arms. It had been more than okay. Tony wanted more, wanted Steve to surround him, to hold him close and never let him go.

_You're in trouble now._

Tony didn't know what to do. Bucky wasn't okay with this, was he? Their argument had been the opposite of conclusive. All Tony knew was that Bucky was afraid of losing him. They hadn't made any decisions, hadn’t clarified anything. In the heat of the moment, in the slide of Bucky’s lips over his body, Tony had forgotten to ask how he _really_ felt about this. About Steve. Or maybe he hadn’t wanted to ask, because what kind of jerk would he have been to bring up the very thing that had made Bucky so upset in the first place? 

_‘I could make that work.’_ That wasn't exactly permission, was it? That didn't even count as consent. If Bucky wasn't enthusiastically in favor, then Tony couldn't have any part of it, no matter how much it made his heart ache.

This wasn’t fair. Tony had just gotten Steve back only to lose him so spectacularly again. He tried to convince himself it wasn’t a loss, it wasn’t the end of the world. He could still have Steve in his life; they’d just have to be friends. Tony could deal with that. Couldn't he?

_Sure feels like a loss to me._

He glanced up at Steve, trying not to look crestfallen. “We can’t."

Maybe that was presumptuous. Steve hadn’t actually said he still wanted Tony to be ‘more.’ But Steve gave him a sad smile, and Tony knew he hadn’t been wrong. Whatever it was he felt, Steve felt it too. 

“I know.”

_Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck._

Tony forced a more neutral expression onto his face. He could live with this. He could. He would just pretend, pretend it was okay until it actually was. That was what people did, right? Tony had done it before. He had perfected the art of acting like nothing was wrong even when he was dying on the inside. And sure, that was an unhealthy pattern, one he was supposed to be breaking, one he had worked hard to correct. But this was different. He had so much more to lose. He had _Bucky_ to lose.

Tony bit his tongue to distract himself, wondering for a moment if that counted as a relapse since he was using pain to bring his mind back down.

_Come on, Stark. Get it together._  

“So,” Tony said. “Do you want to give me a tour?”

It was a deliberate diversion, and he was relieved when Steve took the bait and nodded.

“Of course.”

...

Steve’s tour had taken just under an hour, with Steve pausing every so often to point something out or tell a story. They’d started at the lower level and worked their way up, stopping to talk to employees, discussing the building refurbishment - Steve had even told him how FRIDAY had helped him steal some of Tony’s non-classified designs, which explained where those sketches had come from.

Tony hadn’t seen this version of Steve in a long time. Passionate, completely absorbed in his project, proud of the work he’d done. Tony felt humbled that Steve had shared that with him. And Tony could be involved as much or as little as he wanted.

“You can run it, if you want,” Steve had said. “And if you have other things you want to focus on, I’ll run it for you.”

Tony hadn’t wanted to leave. He could’ve listened to Steve go on all day about the possibilities, the lives they could change, the scientific advances they could make that would positively impact so many people. When he’d finally returned to the compound, Tony had locked himself in his workshop, giving FRIDAY instructions not to let anyone in. 

He worked on the prosthetic with music blaring in the background until his vision blurred and he had to take a break to rest his eyes. Instead of actually taking a break, though, he moved on to something less taxing, fixing some small flaws in the mark 99, which he was trying to rehabilitate, because the more suits he had, the better off everyone was. That was an idea he’d never been able to let go of. His suits helped him protect the people he loved. They were non-negotiable.

He spent hours in the workshop, ignoring the time, working until he couldn’t work any more. He was falling into the old pattern. Hiding. Avoiding. He didn’t want to admit that Bucky had even been fractionally right, didn’t want to have the conversation he knew he had to have.

_You worked so hard to get out of this place. Just take your own damn advice and go be honest._

Tony couldn’t do that, though. If he told Bucky, it might hurt him, and that was the last thing Tony wanted to do.

_So you’d rather sit here and torture yourself?_

Yes. He would. He was used to it. He was good at it. And yes, those were dangerous thoughts, but he had them under control. He wasn’t going to do anything stupid. 

_Why can't you just be happy with what you have, anyway? Classic Tony Stark, always reaching beyond your grasp._

“This is ridiculous,” Tony said. He had been doing so well, telling that voice to take a hike. Of course it had been too good to be true. “I can’t do this right now.”

He picked up the phone and dialed. On the third ring, Natasha answered.

“What’s up, Tony?” 

“You free?” 

“All evening. Why?”

“Can you meet me at the gym? I really need to blow off some steam.”

Was that desperation in his voice? He couldn't tell, but whatever it was, he hoped Natasha wouldn't judge him for it.

“I’ll be there in ten.”

“Thanks, Nat.”

The call ended, and Tony set down his phone and took a steadying breath. It wasn’t fight club, but it was the next best thing. He grabbed his sparring bag and strode out the door, not even bothering to hit the lights on his way out.

...

Dodge. Dodge. Block. Hit.

It was an old dance, one Tony remembered, one he had loved. He’d never really taken time to mourn the loss of fight club. In hindsight, he probably should’ve. He’d enjoyed it, even if it hadn’t been healthy. It had felt good.

This felt good too, but not in the same way. He cared about Natasha, so he didn’t want to beat her up. He also didn’t stand a chance of coming _close_ to hurting her unless he was wearing the suit, and if he stopped to think about that too hard, it felt like an exercise in futility. It wasn’t supposed to be that. It was supposed to help him, supposed to channel some his mental stress into physical release.

He rolled forward into a somersault to avoid Natasha’s kick, feeling victorious when he jumped back to his feet and managed to elbow her in the side before she grabbed his arm and swung him around.

“You're getting better,” she said.

“Proof positive you can teach an old dog new tricks,” he replied, smiling just a bit. She blocked his next hit, grabbing his fist, and he broke the hold with his other forearm, using the distraction to kick one of her legs out and drop her to the floor. She was up again in a fraction of a second, using the same move on Tony, and his head hit the mat hard. Natasha didn't press him as he struggled to his feet.

It took ten minutes for Tony to figure out she was going easy on him, and another ten for him to finally say something.

“You’re pulling your punches,” Tony growled, wiping sweat off his brow as they circled each other again.

“I’m better trained than you." 

“Don’t care." Tony lunged at her and got in one good hit before she had him flat on his back. He jumped up, ignoring the twinge in his ribs, and drove forward again.

When Natasha started fighting like he knew she could, it was no contest. Tony tried to hold his own, but he was tired, and sloppy, and she was so much better than he was. He hit the mat once, twice, three more times, landing on his back, then his knees, then catching himself painfully on his wrist. He would never have admitted out loud that he was enjoying it, that what he really wanted was to let her beat him senseless.

“Tony. You need to stop.”

“Fine,” Tony spat, pulling his gloves off and throwing them down. He sank to the floor, resting his arms on his knees, breathing hard. He didn’t want to stop. He wanted to keep going until he couldn’t see straight, until there was blood on the mat. When Natasha took a seat beside him, he didn’t move. He stared straight down, eyes unseeing.

“Fighting isn’t always the answer, you know.”

“I thought it would help." 

“Did it?”

“Not really.” Tony rubbed a hand over his face. “Thanks for humoring me anyway.”

“I’m good at listening, too,” Natasha said. “If you want to talk.”

“The whole reason I'm here is because I'm afraid of talking.” Tony sighed, lowering himself the rest of the way to the floor, staring up at the ceiling. “I just wanted to get my mind to shut up about everything for a few minutes.”

They sat in silence; then Natasha stood up and held out her hand. “I have an idea." 

“Oh?”

“Training. I put you in a hold, you figure out how to get out of it. And if you can't, I'll teach you.” Tony took her hand and pulled himself to his feet. “That should make things quiet up there for a while.”

That actually wasn't a bad idea. Escaping from something like an arm lock and turning it around on your opponent required a fair amount of brainpower. And being in that kind of stress position tended to narrow a person's focus _way_ down. 

“Let's give it a shot," Tony said, retrieving his gloves and stepping back onto the mat.

...

When Tony finally hit the shower, he and Natasha had clocked three hours in the gym. He was thankful she hadn't lost her patience with him, especially now that he was asking her to spar more and more. She didn't seem to mind Tony taking up her time. Maybe she enjoyed the chance to fight, too, since the team hadn't seen any action in a while.

The familiar soreness in his muscles was comforting, but as he changed out of his sparring clothes, Tony couldn't help but feel guilty. He might've been avoiding his problems in a more healthy way, but he was still avoiding them. Which meant he was avoiding Bucky, and he didn't enjoy that. He imagined Bucky didn't either. 

_You could just go talk to him._

Tony sighed, pulling on his sweatshirt and looking at himself in the mirror.

_Don't be such a coward, Stark._

Tony hated to admit it, especially after all the hard work he'd done in therapy, but sometimes that voice was right. He _was_ being a coward. He wasn't going to lose Bucky, not when he knew how terrified Bucky was of losing him. He just didn't want to have the difficult conversation, didn't want to risk Bucky offering to do something he wasn't comfortable with just to make Tony happy.

Trust. This relationship needed to be based on trust. Tony had to trust Bucky enough to tell him, trust him not to lie about how he felt. And in return, Tony wouldn't lie about how he felt, either. It was time to stop being a hypocrite and start taking his own advice. 

Except Tony wasn't ready for that. He wasn't ready for the consequences, whatever they were. And so instead of going to Bucky, he went back to the workshop and locked himself in.

…

When Tony woke up, it was morning - he knew because his alarm was blaring loudly. He searched around for his phone and shut it off, because that alarm tone was too obnoxious to tolerate.

He had fallen asleep on the work table. He'd slept through the whole night with his face in his arm, a half-finished gauntlet in front of him. It was the first night he'd been away from Bucky in a long time. Tony flipped back to the home screen on his phone and saw four missed calls. Two from Bucky, one from Bruce, and one from Steve.

_Well shit._

Bucky was probably worried, and that probably meant he had called Steve, and _that_ probably meant they had talked about the whole thing without him, because apparently they liked to have conversations with each other and not fill Tony in.

“FRIDAY, did Bucky ask where I was?”

“No, boss.”

That either meant that Bucky knew where he was and was trying to give him space, or hadn't asked because he was upset.

“Is he still in his room?”

“Yes, boss.”

“Great. Thanks.” 

It was sort of unforgivable, the fact that he hadn't talked to Bucky since the night of the gala. He prepared himself for Bucky to be angry and hurt, because that was how Tony would've felt if their situations had been reversed.

He took a deep breath and stood up. He'd sat on this long enough. Time to go and check the damage.

... 

Tony shouldn't have been worried.

When Bucky answered his door, he didn't ask questions; he just pulled Tony inside and kissed him. It was sweet, and soothing, as if Bucky sensed his stress and wanted to take it away. Tony leaned into him, then drew back, shaking his head.

“You didn't even let me apologize,” Tony said breathlessly. 

“You got nothin’ to be sorry for." 

“I do, though. I went and saw Steve yesterday, and-”

“I know,” Bucky said, silencing him with a thumb tracing his lower lip.

“I told him everything,” came Steve’s voice from the doorway. Tony whirled around, frowning, then looked back at Bucky.

“What’s he doing here?”

“Told FRIDAY to call him,” Bucky replied. “Once you showed up.”

He knew Bucky hadn't meant it as a dig, but it made Tony feel guilty all the same.

“I’m sorry,” Tony said. “I wasn’t trying to avoid you - or I was, but I was going to talk to you. I just needed time. I didn’t want to hurt you, and I didn’t want to lie.”

“I understand."

_You always do_ , Tony thought. 

“What… what did you tell him?” Tony asked Steve. 

“That I begged for your forgiveness. That I still have feelings for you.”

“And how did you respond to that?” Tony asked Bucky.

“I told him we had to talk to you to figure it out."

That was Bucky’s solution for everything, and it wasn’t really a solution. Tony felt himself growing frustrated when Steve interjected again.

“I said I'd come talk, and that if you wanted me to leave, then I would.” Steve took a deep breath, then met Tony's eyes. “Do you want me to go?”

Tony didn't know how to answer that question. He looked at Bucky, but Bucky shook his head.

“He’s askin’ you, doll.”

“And I'm asking _you_ ,” Tony said. “You're okay with this? With Steve being part of this? That's what you want?”

“Yes,” Bucky replied, nodding slowly.

“You're not lying to me because you want to make me happy?” 

“I'm not lyin’. I promise.”

_I don't know if I believe you._

Could he take Bucky at his word, when he hadn't told the truth the first time?

“Tony.” Bucky stepped closer, taking his hand and squeezing gently. “Trust me.”

He did. He trusted Bucky with everything, god help him.

“I do. I do. I just…” Tony trailed off, unsure.

“Tony. I won't do anything Bucky doesn't want."  

That must’ve been their agreement - Steve could participate, but Bucky was holding the reins. 

“See, doll? It's okay,” Bucky whispered, the words intended only for Tony. “Long as I'm in control, I’m happy.” 

That sent a shiver up Tony’s spine. He glanced briefly at Steve, then asked, “If we’re doing this, we've gotta have rules, right? Did you guys talk about rules?”

“We’re usin’ colors." 

_Okay,_ Tony thought. _I can work with that._

“So what now?” Tony asked lamely.

Steve took a step forward and looked over at Bucky, clearly asking for permission.

“Go ahead.”

It was like Tony was Bucky’s property, a toy he was letting Steve play with, but that ultimately belonged to him. Tony was surprisingly comfortable with that idea, ready and willing to give Bucky absolute control. Bucky was consenting to this for him, so Tony didn't have to feel overly burdened with the decision - and if that meant he was letting the Soldier dominate him, so what?

_Don't lie. You like it._

It was the last thought in his head before Steve kissed him.

It felt like they were teenagers at a party, like the bottle had landed on Tony and everyone was watching. Steve didn't bite, didn't use his tongue or his hands. It was just a kiss, simple and perfect, over so quickly that Tony questioned whether or not it had happened at all. His eyes flew open, and he stood there, breathing harder than he had any right to be after something so tame. Steve had taken him back in time, made his heart race with the reminder of how it felt to _finally_ kiss someone you really liked.

“Buck?” It was Steve who said it aloud, because Tony was still speechless.

“Kiss him again,” Bucky said, voice husky, eyes dark.

Tony barely had time to blink before Steve was on him, one hand pressed into Tony's chest, the other at the small of his back. The gentleness in Steve's touch startled him, and Tony opened to him eagerly, willing Steve to give more, to push Tony harder. Steve tasted like cinnamon, and his tongue swept Tony's mouth with purpose, not force. Tony pulled away, his breath stolen.

“He won't break, Stevie,” Bucky said, so close that Tony felt the words against his ear.

Steve bent to kiss him again, and suddenly, with Bucky’s permission, Steve was bolder, rougher, his lips demanding, his tongue insatiable. The hand at his back found purchase in the fabric of Tony’s hoodie, the one at his front sliding up to cup his cheek. Tony was forced backward into Bucky’s chest, and then Bucky's hands were on him, and he gasped.

“Whoa,” Tony said, his head rolling back, his eyes still closed. So many points of contact. He hadn't quite been prepared for that. He felt Steve hesitate, and Bucky’s metal hand reached around to grab Steve's arm, holding it in place.

“If he needs you to stop, he’ll say. Right, doll?”

“Right,” Tony affirmed, surprised when Steve dipped his head to drop kisses along Tony's ear. It made him shiver, and he turned, seeking more contact. “Steve,” Tony breathed, already sounding wrung out. Metal fingers dug sharply into his hip, and Bucky bit down where Tony's shoulder met his neck. “ _Buck_.”

Was this going to be a competition? Who could make him moan more, who could get him to scream the loudest? If things went like that, Tony wasn't sure that by the end of this he'd be able to remember his own name. Tony opened his eyes. Steve’s face flashed with unbridled emotion, and Tony thought it might consume him, burn him up and leave him ravaged and broken.

“Tell me what you're thinking,” Tony said. 

“I need you,” Steve replied, and it was like a hand had closed around Tony's heart and squeezed.

“What're _you_ thinkin’, doll?"

“That this is either a really good idea or a really bad one.”

“D’you want it?” Bucky’s breath was hot on his neck, and Tony swallowed, trying hard not to sound as desperate as he felt.

“Yes.”

“Then it's a good idea,” Bucky murmured against his hair. “Don't worry. We’ll take good care of you.”

Tony let out an embarrassing noise when Bucky grabbed his hair and tilted his head back, and the dark look in Steve's eyes was almost enough to unhinge him. He got lost in urgent lips and questing hands, Bucky behind him, Steve in front, until the three of them were tangled up together in the sheets.

Bucky showed no mercy - the Soldier made him beg and cry and plead, taking him apart, reducing his world to pain and pleasure and nothing else. Then, once he was in pieces, Steve put him carefully back together, lighting fireworks behind his eyes, catching him when he finally tumbled over the edge.

...

It had taken Tony three more weeks, but Bucky’s new arm was finally ready.

Tony had announced it the night before, and had asked Steve and Bucky if they were free the following afternoon to install it. It was a two person job, and he wanted Steve’s help to make sure he detached the existing arm without doing any damage; he also needed someone to activate the new arm while he was holding it in place. They’d agreed to do it before lunchtime, because Bucky hadn’t wanted to wait all day. Bucky didn’t get nervous about much, but this was something he had probably lost sleep over.

Tony was waiting for them in the workshop when they arrived, Bucky trailing behind Steve, already wearing a tank to make the process easier. They both spotted the new prosthetic in its case at nearly the same time. Bucky’s eyes widened.

“So! Who’s ready for a little arm surgery?” Tony asked. “Kidding, kidding. This should actually be pretty easy. Buck, will you take a seat right there?” He gestured at the work table, and Bucky sat down just like he had so many times before. 

“Steve, you can stand next to me on the right,” Tony continued. “I’ll need you to help me take this arm off first.” His eyes met Bucky’s as Steve stepped into place beside him. “You ready for this, Buck?”

“Yeah. I trust you.”

The words made Tony’s throat constrict. “Okay. Here we go.”

He set to work with his smallest screwdriver, opening the highest panel and pressing the release. The arm made a noise and then disconnected, and Tony caught it before it dropped, surprised at the weight of it. Steve helped him move it to the table behind them, and Tony forced himself not to stare, because he’d never seen Bucky look so naked. Without the arm, he seemed so much more human.

“You okay, Buck?”

“Yeah. Just… it’s so ugly.” Bucky glanced at what was left of his arm, then looked pointedly away.

“Can I touch it?” Tony asked.

Bucky’s eyebrows flew up. “D’you want to?”

“Yeah. It’s a part of you, right? Besides, I want to know if you can feel anything.”

“Okay.” 

Tony took a step closer, then reached out to touch the scarred stump of Bucky’s arm. Bucky closed his eyes the instant Tony’s fingers made contact, and he took in a breath.

“Feels… weird,” Bucky said, “but not bad.” 

“Bet you’d rather have the rest of the arm back though, right?” Tony brushed his palm over Bucky’s shoulder, then pulled his hand away. He took the new prosthetic from its case, held it up, and pressed the edges into Bucky’s skin.

“So you remember what’s gonna happen,” Tony said. “It’ll attach, then it’ll start making neural connections, and once it’s finished you’ll be able to move it. It might be a little overwhelming, but it should only last a few seconds. You ready?”

Bucky nodded, and Tony looked to Steve. Steve flipped the ‘switch,’ which Tony had stored in a location separate from the arm, and the metal gripped Bucky’s shoulder and latched on. Tony released the prosthetic, and Bucky frowned deeply, his whole body growing tense. It lasted maybe five seconds, and then Tony saw the fingers start to twitch.

“How’s it feel?” Tony asked.

“Light. Light but strong.”

“That’s the goal. You should be able to feel a lot more - hot and cold, soft and rough, that sort of thing.”

Bucky reached out and ran the prosthetic hand through Tony’s hair, pausing halfway through, looking surprised. “Soft." Bucky's fingers trailed down to Tony’s beard. “And rough.”

“You feel it?” 

“Yeah.” 

Bucky looked… _amazed_ was the best word Tony had for it, but even that didn’t quite fit. He was like a child, all wonder and fascination. Bucky touched Tony’s lips, the fabric of his shirt, the table, the chair. “That’s incredible.

Tony felt tears well up in his eyes.

“I’m gonna leave you two alone so Tony can watch you touch everything in the workshop,” Steve said, his smile wide.

“You don’t have to go,” Tony said, blinking to clear his vision.

_Damn it, Stark, do you have to go and get all emotional?_

“It’s okay. I promised Sam I’d go running with him, anyway. I’ll see you later this afternoon, and you can tell me all about it.”

Steve kissed Tony, slow and sweet, then stroked Tony's cheek with a gentle brush of his thumb. Steve's eyes teased him for almost crying, and Tony bit Steve’s lip lightly in response.

Then Steve kissed Bucky, and Tony couldn’t help but smile to himself. That was new - yes, the three of them had been having sex together for a while, but whatever this was with Steve and Bucky, it was just starting, and they were taking their time figuring it out. Maybe friends turned lovers wasn’t the easiest thing in the world to get used to. Still, judging by the look on Bucky’s face, he was more than okay with it.

“You _like_ him,” Tony teased once Steve had left the room. 

“Shut up. We are sleepin’ with him, after all.”

“I’m not judging.” Tony raised his hands in mock-surrender. “I like him too.”

Bucky didn’t respond, still moving the new arm, crossing the room to look at it in the mirror. “This is beautiful, Tony.”

“Well, I had to make it match the owner. Anything less wouldn’t have done you justice.”

It looked similar to T’Challa’s design, but with a few differences. There weren’t so many visible plates; in reality, there were many more plates than before, but Tony had made them discreet, so it wouldn’t look choppy but it would be able to breathe. It was a lighter color than before, less like aluminum, more like platinum, but softer. It almost had a pink tint to it, if you looked at it the right way. Tony had done that so it would more closely imitate the color of real flesh without trying too hard to actually look like skin.

The biggest change, though, was that it was designed to mirror Bucky’s other arm. Tony had taken the measurements of Bucky’s hand, done multiple scans and created holographic projections until he’d had it right, down to the shape, size, and musculature. Now, both sides looked like they were one hundred percent Bucky Barnes.

“Maybe you could come show it off at the foundation later,” Tony continued, shoving his hands into his pockets and looking at the ground. “If you’re up for it, I mean. I know it’s new, maybe you don’t want to share it yet, but-”

“I could do that. They’d love it over there.”

“Yeah, they would." Tony glanced up to find that Bucky was suddenly right next to him.

“This ain’t right. I’ll never be able to repay you.”

“You don’t have to,” Tony insisted, shaking his head. “You love me. Even though I’m a ridiculous, compulsive, unlovable person, you love me. That’s enough.”

Bucky was smart enough not to argue with him. Instead, Bucky kissed him, the new prosthetic fingers finding their way into Tony's hair, Bucky’s palm holding the back of his head even as he pulled away.

“Thank you,” Bucky said.

Tony smiled when he met Bucky’s earnest eyes.

“You’re welcome.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I appreciate all the comments/feedback/kudos that I've received and the conversations that have happened as a result of this fic. Hit me up on [tumblr](https://sopherfly.tumblr.com) whenever. Thanks so much for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This story has recently undergone a few revisions. Drop me a line if you have any questions about those (they are mostly related to formatting and removing some overused words). Thanks for reading!
> 
> The story is set a year after CACW. The Avengers have returned to the Avengers Facility, James Rhodes can walk (thanks to a year of physical therapy), and Bruce Banner is no longer MIA.


End file.
